


Causality

by Miershooptier



Series: Bodies in Orbit [5]
Category: Numb3rs (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, AU, Angst, Case Fic, Coming Out, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sex, Slice of Life, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-09-06 12:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 57,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20291611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miershooptier/pseuds/Miershooptier
Summary: Five times Ian was there, and one time he wasn’t.  Six separate stories set during seasons 4 through 6, posted one at a time.I don’t own any characters you recognize, I just like to push their faces together and make kissy noises. I don’t own any dialogue you recognize.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set around S4E11, “Breaking Point.”

Colby drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel of his car, glancing out the passenger side window towards the Craftsman. He’d just let Charlie get out after taking him up to the hills to talk about the night with the truck, and he wasn’t sure how much good it had done. It was clear that Charlie was still pretty rattled, and aside from the mathematician being their best bet to figure out the meaning behind the pages of numbers found in Bonnie Parks’ notes, Colby was worried about him.

Coming to a decision, Colby pulled out his cell phone and found the contact he was looking for. He still paused before hitting the call button, well aware that he could be poking at an angry hornets nest. What the hell. He had Kevlar. He pressed ‘call.’

It was picked up almost immediately. “Edgerton.”

“Hi, Ian, it’s Colby.”

“…Granger?” Ian sounded surprised. 

“Yeah, from the L.A. office,” said Colby, and lightly smacked his own head for sounding stupid. He couldn’t help it, he’d always been slightly in awe of Ian Edgerton, the FBI’s best sniper and a legend in Afghanistan. Also, the last time he’d seen Ian, he was pretty sure he’d been threatened a little bit.

“I know who you are. I’m just surprised to hear from you, usually it’s Don calling me in. You taking the lead on something?”

“No, not really.” Colby hesitated. “I’m calling about Charlie.”

He heard a sharply drawn breath. “What about Charlie?”

“He, uh, he’s working on this missing persons case with us and two nights ago someone driving a large truck ran him off the road and took a shot at him.”

“What?” Ian’s voice was controlled, but there was a hard edge to his tone. “Is he all right?”

“Yeah, he knocked his head on the steering wheel but otherwise he’s not hurt. But he’s kind of shaken up about it – I asked him to talk through it with me, and he did, but afterward he said that he didn’t want to bother you with this. But I dunno, man, I think maybe he could use some help.”

There was silence for a moment. “I’ll see when I can take a flight out, we’re almost finished with this cohort. I appreciate the heads up, Granger.”

“Sure. Um. Should I…should I let anyone know you’re coming?” Colby swallowed, hoping that he wasn’t overstepping any further.

“No, I want to feel things out first, so I’d appreciate you keeping this to yourself for the time being.” Ian coughed slightly. “Thanks.”

Colby heard the call end with a click. Well. That didn’t go terribly. He got out of the car and headed toward the garage, hoping that Charlie was in a better place to start getting somewhere with those numbers. Bonnie’s life depended on it, if she was still alive.

01101110 01110101 01101101 01100010 01100101 01110010 01110011 0001010

Charlie could hear Alan, Ray Ray and Larry talking through the roof modifications at the other end of the yard, and was grateful that he didn’t have to be part of that conversation. He didn’t really understand why his father could be simultaneously hugely in favor of sustainable energy in principle and also so resistant to any potential changes the house would need to support it. Besides, it wasn’t his house anymore, Charlie had paid two percent over market for it. In cash. 

The new filter pump for the koi pond that Ray Ray had recommended was installed and ready to go – all that needed to be done now was to replace the decorative rocks that would hide it from view. Charlie bent down and got a grip on the last one. Of course it was the heaviest.

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing? You need a hand?” Don quickened his pace to help Charlie support the rock.

“Yeah, thanks,” Charlie grunted.

“Where are you going with it?”

“Right behind you – all right, just back there.” Together, the brothers managed to set the rock in place over the pump without crushing anyone’s fingers.

Don dusted his hands. “So we’ve got Taylor sealed up pretty damn tight. We sent him over to the U.S. Attorney.”

“Good,” Charlie nodded. “Then it’s safe for me to drive again.” He winced a little, knowing that he’d just provided an opening for Don to make a crack about his driving, but to his surprise Don didn’t rise to the bait.

“Look,” Don said, scraping the ground with his foot. “I’ve kind of been thinking about you working for us.”

“This one got a little scary,” Charlie acknowledged. He reminded himself, again, that this hadn’t been the first time he was shot at, not the first time he’d been in danger while working on a case. But he didn’t know why he wasn’t able to bounce back from this one, why it was having such an effect on him.

“Yeah, exactly. I mean, I don’t know if we would have found her in time without you, but…”

Charlie interrupted him. “Look, you know I’m always glad to help.”

“The thing is, do you think that…you know, I’m holding you back?”

“From what?” Charlie looked up at his brother in surprise. Don’s face was earnest – he really was worried about this.

Don didn’t seem to know what to say. “You know, doing something _better.”_

Charlie thought about this, and the realization that this wasn’t just concern for his safety, that Don was still in the mindset that Charlie’s work was more important than his – just like it had been growing up – caused a sensation of guilt to twist his stomach. In spite of their parents’ best intentions, Charlie knew that he had received the lion’s share of attention and support when they were kids. He had taken so much of their parents’ time from Don. He _owed_ Don all of the help he could provide, and aside from that, Don’s social life was basically non-existent – everything revolved around his work. If he wanted to spend any time with his brother, it meant working cases. And he _enjoyed_ working cases – applying mathematical solutions to real world problems was pretty much the most exciting thing Charlie could ever do.

“No,” he replied shortly.

“Because if you ever do, you gotta tell me, you gotta promise me you’ll tell me,” Don said urgently, leaning forward in an attempt to get Charlie’s full attention.

“Sure.” Charlie nodded slightly, trying to make Don feel better. He stuck out a hand. “Deal.”

Don shook it, looking relieved, his features relaxing a little. Charlie smiled and picked up the remote control for the filter pump, turning it on. The pump whirred to life and then quieted, sending a steady stream of water down into the pond. Charlie had no idea how to tell if the koi were happy, or if fish were even capable of having such emotions, but he liked to think that they would see this as an improvement over the old rattling, unreliable pump that had performed this function for them since the koi pond had been dug.

“Works like a charm,” Charlie said, grinning. 

“Yeah,” Don said, a matching grin on his face. “Better than the old days, huh?”

“You know, I think it’s time I had a beer. You want a beer?” Charlie asked, knowing his brother would never turn that down.

“Ah, you know me,” Don said, pleased.

“Yeah, I know it’s the real reason you came over.” Charlie teased as he led the way through the yard and back into the kitchen. Ray Ray and Alan were already seated at the dining room table with beers of their own, going over the plans for the solar panels again. This time Alan looked as though he was keeping an open mind about it, and Larry was providing commentary on the physics of energy conversion. 

Charlie got Don a beer and let him get drawn into the discussion, then quietly faded back into the kitchen. He checked the text message he’d received almost an hour earlier.

_Just landed at LAX. On my way to the house._

Charlie had texted back. _In the garage._

He paused, listening to the lively conversation occurring on the other side of the door to the dining room, then slipped out to the backyard to make his way to the garage. He spent some time erasing all of Bonnie Parks’ coded real estate notes from his boards, remembering how relieved he’d been when Colby had texted to say that he and David had found her alive. That his stupid, unnecessary freak out hadn’t doomed a woman to death by dehydration and neglect after all. 

Colby had probably called Ian. That was the most likely explanation, because Charlie certainly hadn’t, and he knew that Ian’s current training schedule wasn’t due to be over for a few more days. While this thing between them was spontaneous, it did have predictors, and the Quantico schedule was one of them. And Colby was still the only one who knew.

“Hey, Professor.”

Charlie didn’t turn around, choosing instead to clear the copies of the real estate numbers off of his garage desk. “An hour’s notice is pretty spontaneous, even for you.”

“I wasn’t sure when I would be able to get on a plane, but I managed to wrap up my portion of the training a little early.”

“I’m sorry that Colby called you –“ Charlie started, but was cut off as Ian gripped him by the shoulder, spun him around, and caught his lips in a bruising kiss. Ian was demanding entrance to his mouth and Charlie granted it, unable to stifle a moan as Ian’s hand moved from his shoulder to his hair, burying his fingers as he was fond of doing.

“Are you?” Ian panted when he pulled away. “Are you really sorry Colby called me?”

Charlie ducked his head and pressed his face into Ian’s chest. “No,” he whispered.

“Why didn’t _you_ call me, Charlie?”

Charlie wrapped his arms around Ian’s waist and tried a shrug. Ian wasn’t taking that as an answer. He placed a knuckle under the mathematician’s chin and tilted his face upward. “Why, Charlie?”

“Because I was being stupid, I shouldn’t _have_ to – it was like it completely wrecked my brain, I couldn’t _think._ I’ve been jumpy and awful to everyone – Amita, Larry, Colby… And David. They were all just trying to help.” Charlie gripped a fistful of Ian’s jacket. “I…I didn’t want you to hear from me like that. Not until I…not until I was back to – ” Charlie gave a short, hoarse laugh. “Back to normal.”

“This is the kind of thing that I’d want to hear directly from you, Professor,” Ian murmured, running a hand up and down Charlie’s back. 

“If we made it a rule to call each other every time someone took a shot at us, I’d get a lot more phone calls.”

Ian chuckled at that. “But it’s not really part of your job description, Charlie, that’s why it’s different.”

“I had a sniper try to put a bullet in my head before you stopped him – thank you again for that, by the way. I had Russian mobsters show up in my classroom. I was right across the street from a meth lab that blew up. I had to play the game of an apparently crazy ex-intelligence officer before he collapsed a bridge. And that’s just for the FBI… I should be used to this.”

“Hey, look at me,” Ian ordered, waiting until Charlie reluctantly met his eyes. “No one is expecting you to be used to this, or be able to just brush these things off.”

“You’re wrong, I was still needed and I couldn’t…I wasn’t able to do it.” Charlie argued. “There was a woman counting on me to keep it together. She would have died – “

“And if she had it would have been because of the guys who kidnapped her, not you,” Ian said firmly. “You know that, don’t you?”

Charlie looked hard at him. “Is that what you would tell yourself?”

And Ian didn’t have a real answer for that. Instead, he walked backward until his calves hit the wicker couch against the wall, and he sat, pulling Charlie into his lap. Charlie inhaled sharply as he straddled Ian, and gathered handfuls of Ian’s jacket in his fists. In this position, Ian was looking up at Charlie, and the sniper reached out to run his fingers through his hair, lifting up and smoothing back the curls that usually fell over his forehead. 

Charlie permitted it until he realized what Ian was doing. “Stop it,” he said with a small smile. “I’m fine, there’s not even a bruise.” He took Ian’s hand and placed it on his hip instead, then leaned forward, pressing their lips together.

Ian gripped Charlie’s hips, kneading with his fingers. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of a much more thorough inspection later, Professor.”

Charlie hummed in amusement and moved his exploration of Ian’s mouth to his jawline, teasing and nipping but taking care not to leave any marks. One of Ian’s hands slid up, sneaking his fingers inside Charlie’s shirt, stroking up and down his side, and the skin on skin contact sent a shudder through Charlie’s body. He was seriously considering letting things get out of hand right there in the garage when Don walked in.

“Hey, Charlie, whose car is _– what the fuck!”_

“Oh god,” Charlie groaned, instinctively hiding his face in Ian’s shoulder before taking a deep breath and pushing himself up and off of Ian’s lap. He faced his brother, surprised at how relatively calm he felt. His stomach was doing flip-flops but his brain had taken over – logically, the longer he and Ian were together, the more likely it was that his family would find out one way or another. This wasn’t how he would have wanted to tell Don, but it was his fault for leaving it this long. He’d told himself he’d been waiting for the right time, waiting to feel ready, but his inaction had taken the choice of timing away from him. Probably for the best.

“Hey, Don.”

“Charlie, what the fuck?!” The stunned expression on Don’s face was comical, and Charlie had to fight to keep down an almost hysterical laugh.

“Okay, so, you know Ian.” Charlie said awkwardly. “He and I, we’re – he’s my…” Charlie looked at Ian, fumbling for the right words.

“Boyfriend?” Ian suggested, raising his eyebrows. Charlie raised his in response. That was something to talk about later.

Charlie turned back to Don. “Boyfriend.”

“How –?” Don rubbed his jaw, looking back and forth between them. “What…I – why didn’t you tell me you were gay, Charlie?”

“Because I’m not,” Charlie retorted. “I like women. I like men.”

“Yeah, okay, but so why didn’t you _tell_ me?” Don asked stubbornly.

“We weren’t talking when it first became relevant, Don.” Charlie looked down. “And nothing came of that, so it didn’t seem like there was any reason to.”

“How long?” Don asked, shooting a dark glance at Ian.

“Since the plane crash,” Charlie responded calmly. _Technically true._ Sibley was none of Don’s business.

“Charlie!” Don burst out. “That was like nine months ago!”

“I’m aware, Don.”

“And you hid it from me – does Dad know?”

“Not yet.” Charlie shifted uncomfortably. He felt his face starting to heat up, and he felt awful that Ian was having to sit there and listen to this. “Ian, I’m sorry, you can go –“

“We’re not done talking about this,” Don protested fiercely, holding up a hand even though Ian hadn’t even made a move to rise.

Charlie was suddenly irritated. “Look, this isn’t the way I wanted to tell you, Don, this is unplanned and I never intended to put Ian in the middle of this conversation when it did happen. If you want to interrogate me all night at least he can get some sleep.”

“Excuse me if I need more than a couple minutes to absorb the fact that my little brother is fucking Ian Edgerton!” Don almost shouted.

“Actually, he’s fucking me,” Charlie said without thinking, causing Don to choke and Ian to cough, hiding what Charlie suspected was a laugh. Again Charlie had to suppress the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside him, and it took more effort this time. He had to push through this. “Sorry, I’m just not sure the level of detail you want me to get into, since you’re asking me about my sex life.”

Don sputtered. Charlie stepped up and poked him in the chest. “If you want me to believe that I can come to you with anything, Don, you have to stop making it so damn hard.”

Understanding tinged with guilt bloomed in Don’s face, and he nodded slightly. “Sorry.” Don didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, and he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

Charlie turned to Ian. “Would you be okay to come inside with me so that I can officially introduce you to my dad? I never intended to spring this on you – if you’d be more comfortable taking off, I understand.”

If he were being honest, Ian _was_ tempted to leave and find a hotel, and even better if he could persuade Charlie to come with him. He’d come straight to the Craftsman from the airport, not wanting to wait to see for himself that Charlie was okay – there hadn’t been any discussion about being careful this time. Ian had been to the house before but only when Charlie had assured him he was alone there. With other people present it was hardly surprising that they’d been interrupted.

It wasn’t as though Ian was opposed to the idea of Charlie’s family knowing. He knew that Charlie had wanted to come out to them, and he was part of the package. He would have preferred to work himself up to the…the domesticity of it all, however, which was something that he hadn’t even tried with his own family in years – hell, maybe not ever. He doubted he’d be any good at it.

A part of Ian was yelling at himself, demanding to know why he was balking at something as trivial as interacting with people he either already knew personally or by reputation after having survived a shit childhood, multiple tours in the military, and a career in which he regularly chased after murderers. Ian got to his feet, shrugging stiffly. “I’ve got nowhere else I need to be, Charlie. If the timing works for you then it works for me.”

Charlie’s smile went a long way toward making up for Ian’s lingering reluctance.

Alan and the two CalSci professors were still seated at the dining room table, the plans for the solar panels pushed toward the end of the table in order to make room for a far more enthusiastic and congenial discussion about how the Dodgers were going to do against the Giants in the weekend’s game. There were gestures and baseball plays being illustrated on the table with beer bottles representing the bases. Alan and Ray Ray looked like they were working on fresh beers (third base and home respectively), while Larry was sipping from a glass of milk. They looked up when Charlie and Ian entered the room, Don lurking behind them.

“Um, Dad. Guys. I just wanted to let you know that I’m…I’m dating someone.” Charlie tugged Ian forward slightly, and Ian could feel Charlie’s grip tightening anxiously around his hand. “This is him. Um, this is Ian Edgerton.”

There was silence. Alan was blinking in surprise, his mouth slightly open. Charlie wondered if it was due to shock or if his father had more beers than he thought. Ray Ray had a huge, delighted grin on his face, the same grin he wore when he heard or suspected anybody was getting laid. He’d worn a similar grin just two days earlier when he learned about Larry and Megan’s relationship. Larry’s expression was contemplative at best, and he was stroking his newly grown beard absently.

_No one’s saying anything_, Charlie thought, starting to panic. _Why isn’t anyone saying anything?_

Don took a step forward. “Dad, you remember me telling you about Ian, he’s worked with us on a few cases. He’s a trainer at Quantico, in fact I’ve been in some of his sniper training classes, you know, when I was teaching at the Academy.” Charlie threw a grateful look at his brother.

Alan cleared his throat, pushing his chair back so he could get to his feet. “I, uh, Ian, it’s nice to…finally meet you.” He held out a hand, and Ian shook it. “You’re…you’re dating Charlie, huh?”

“That’s right.” Ian tried a smile. “It’s good meeting you, too.”

“And you remember Larry, I told you that he was a mission specialist on the space station. And this is Ray Galuski, he’s in the engineering department at CalSci.” Charlie gestured to his friends.

“You’re a sniper instructor?” Ray Ray’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm. “I’m mostly into engines, but I have done some work for the DOD on some rifle barrel prototypes in the past. You ever shoot a Gehring .338?”

“I have,” Ian said, thinking to himself that it was a small world when you bumped shoulders with geniuses. “Nice action.”

“That’s one of mine,” Ray Ray said, pleased. “Well, it was a collaboration, but pretty sweet, right?”

“I believe that it’s time I returned to the monastery,” Larry said. “Raymond, would it be possible for you to give me a ride?”

“Sure thing. I’ll be in touch about those panels, Charlie. My connection should be able to give me an idea about the lead time.” Ray Ray cleared the table of the plans and walked with the physicist to the front door.

“Larry –“ Charlie started, reaching out tentatively.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Charles.” Larry waved vaguely at Alan and Don, and followed Ray Ray outside to his car. 

Charlie swallowed, suddenly feeling a hard knot forming in his stomach. 

Alan cleared his throat. “Charlie, can I talk to you in the kitchen for a minute?”

Taking a deep breath, Charlie turned to Ian. “Do you…do you want to stay here? If you do, you can get your stuff out of the car, I won’t be long.”

Ian’s eyes moved from Charlie to Alan, and then to Don. “Are you sure?”

Charlie squeezed his hand reassuringly. Ian fixed his gaze on Don again, an unspoken instruction for him to keep things under control, and headed out to the rental.

“Charlie, what is this? How long has this been going on?” Alan rounded on Charlie as soon as the kitchen door swung closed behind him.

“Exactly what I told you, Dad,” Charlie said, striving for calm. “I’m dating someone, his name is Ian, he works for the FBI, and nine months.”

“Dating? This is not dating, dating is when you introduce someone to your family and they know that you’re in a relationship! This, this is…sneaking around!” Alan blustered, gesturing wildly.

“I just introduced him to you,” said Charlie patiently. “Would you have preferred me to leave a note on the refrigerator?”

“I’ll tell you what I would prefer, I would have liked to know a lot sooner than this! And now you’re just going to have him stay here, a man we hardly know –“

_“You_ hardly know him, Dad. Don and I have both known him for years, and he’s stayed at the house before – you just weren’t here. Remember that business trip with Stan, and your week in Florida with your golf buddies?” 

Don stepped in. “Dad, come on, Charlie’s right. This is a surprise, sure, but Ian –“ Don broke off and looked at Charlie, nodding his head slightly. “You know, he’s a good guy.”

“And it can’t be that much of a surprise,” Charlie said coolly, meeting his father’s eyes. “I know that Mom told you.”

Alan gaped like one of the koi, his mouth working without any words coming out. “That was – you were sixteen, you were at university! I assumed you’d grown out of it, what with Susan and Amita – “

“Goodnight, Dad.” Charlie turned around and left the kitchen. Don and Alan could hear him going up the stairs, followed by the sound of a door closing that was almost a slam.

_“Dad.”_ Don looked at his father reproachfully, and shook his head.

“What? What?” Alan said, defensively. “What did I say?”

The sound of the front door opening and closing gave Don the excuse he wanted to leave the kitchen. Ian stood uncertainly in the entry way, holding a duffle bag and his rifle case, both of which still had the airline tracking tags attached to the handles. 

“He went upstairs,” Don offered, not knowing what else to say.

Ian nodded. “Is he…is everything okay?”

“It will be,” Don said, hoping he was right.

01101110 01110101 01101101 01100010 01100101 01110010 01110011 0001010

Ian woke to the pleasant feeling of a warm body pressed up against his own, and the sensation of Charlie lazily mouthing and nuzzling his clavicle. Noticing the change in breathing that meant that Ian was awake, Charlie rolled his hips against him, grinding his erection firmly on Ian’s groin until he felt an answering hardness. 

“Morning, Professor,” Ian said, slightly relieved to see Charlie being so affectionate. When he’d come up the stairs last night, he’d found Charlie curled up under the sheets in a T-shirt and boxers, willing to snuggle close but not in the mood for conversation or anything more. It worried him, given that he didn’t know what had passed between Charlie and his father while he’d been outside.

It seemed as though Charlie still wasn’t ready for words, because he didn’t say anything in reply, only tugged at Ian’s boxers insistently until Ian shifted his hips, allowing Charlie to pull them off completely. Charlie did the same with his own, then put a hand on Ian’s shoulder and pushed until the sniper rolled onto his back. Charlie dipped his head to take one of Ian’s nipples into his mouth, twirling his tongue around the nub and using his fingers to lightly pinch and roll the other.

Ian closed his eyes with a moan, his hips bucking up of their own volition. Charlie shifted a little, moving his mouth across Ian’s chest and nestling a thigh between Ian’s legs, giving him some welcome friction. One of Ian’s hands found its way to Charlie’s hair while the other slid across his lower back and under his shirt, getting a firm grip on his waist.

They moved together until the friction was too dry for comfort, even with pre-come leaking from both of their cocks. Charlie moved to straddle Ian so that he could reach the drawer of the bedside table. He slicked his hand with the lube he found there and gripped Ian’s cock, giving it a few firm strokes to generously coat it. He added more lube to his palm and did the same for himself, then wrapped his hand around both of them together. 

Ian gripped Charlie’s ass, kneading and spreading his cheeks as the smaller man started to thrust against him, and raised his head slightly so that he could reach Charlie’s lips, morning breath be damned. Charlie started to make small, urgent noises and picked up the pace, and Ian let go with one hand and felt around the bed.

Charlie cried out and lost his grip when Ian’s slick finger entered him, but he kept moving, determined that Ian would come first. He reached out and curled his hand around the back of Ian’s neck, deepening the kiss so that he could lick into Ian’s mouth. He returned to teasing Ian’s nipple with the other hand, and started to swivel his hips down with each movement. That proved to be too much for Ian, who groaned and came just a moment later.

“Come on, Professor,” Ian purred, panting slightly and working his finger in and out while lifting his hips.

Charlie rested his head on Ian’s shoulder, drawing in a sharp breath as his own orgasm added to the sticky mess between them. He tried to push himself up and off, but Ian still had his arm wrapped tightly around his waist. So he rolled, using his body weight to drag them onto their sides so they could both be more comfortable.

“Sorry,” Charlie mumbled, still breathing hard.

“What are you sorry for, Charlie?” Ian planted a kiss on the top of Charlie’s head. “Because from where I’m sitting I’ve had a pretty good morning so far.”

“Last night.” Charlie sighed and moved his foot softly up and down Ian’s calf, unable to keep still. “I never wanted for you to be in the middle of it like you were, especially with no warning.”

“It’s fine, Charlie, really. It’s not like you had any more warning than I did.” Ian hesitated for a moment. “Is everything okay with you and your dad?”

“Fundamentally nothing’s changed, there are just some things out in the open that weren’t before.”

“Still unclear on whether you’re okay, babe.” 

Charlie looked up at him, surprised at this new endearment. “You…I introduced you as my boyfriend last night.”

“That’s true.”

“So…I guess that means I’m _your_ boyfriend.”

“That’s generally how this works, yes.” Ian smirked.

“And are we exclusive boyfriends?” Charlie shifted, tugging the hem of his shirt down so that he could make an effort to clean up his stomach, which was starting to dry and become itchy. “Because I haven’t been with anyone else since we started being spontaneous.”

“I haven’t for the last six months. Turns out that people who aren’t genius math professors tend to bore me now.”

Charlie laughed softly. “Oh, well then it sounds like you’d really enjoy the faculty mixers and fundraising events that our chair likes to host.”

“Not what I meant.” Ian growled good-naturedly and brought Charlie in close for a kiss.

“My track record as a boyfriend isn’t great,” Charlie murmured, running his hand through Ian’s hair.

“Can’t be any worse than mine, Professor. I say we try it on for size and see how it fits.”

01101110 01110101 01101101 01100010 01100101 01110010 01110011 0001010

Don was waiting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, dressed for work in a dark suit and tie. Ian guessed that he’d come by early before heading into the office, and wasn’t entirely surprised to see him. He waited for Don to speak first, busying himself with pouring his own coffee and adding two small sugars. 

“Charlie awake yet?” Don asked finally, unnecessarily stirring his coffee.

“Getting there. He’s in the shower.”

Don nodded. “Hey, sorry about last night, I was just surprised, you know? I kind of suspected that Charlie might have been seeing someone occasionally, but honestly I never pictured this. I mean, I always thought you just kind of tolerated him.”

“Maybe at first. But your brother’s an interesting guy, there’s a lot more to him than just the math.”

“I guess if you’ve been seeing him for this long this is more than just a hook-up,” Don said. “But…I’m surprised. You kind of have a reputation at Quantico.”

Ian scowled. “And you believe everything you hear?”

Don shrugged uncomfortably. “Man, you’re dating my little brother. I just want to make sure that he’s okay, you know?”

“So are we on to the ‘hurt him and I’ll kill you’ part of the conversation?”

“I figured that went without saying.” Don smiled slightly. “Besides, some of what people say about you is true. Like that you’re a scary son of a bitch.”

Ian didn’t allow himself to grin, but he felt a deep sense of satisfaction at that. He didn’t mind that part of it. He took a sip of his coffee. “So, you and me, we’re good?”

Don tilted his head slightly and looked at him, his face holding the same expression that it did when he was sizing up a suspect in an interrogation. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re good. You know, Charlie…he doesn’t just rush into these things, you know? He was completely oblivious to the fact that Amita was even interested in him for a long time. So it looks like he really likes you.” Don shook his head. “Yeah, I had no clue that Charlie was into guys at all. He was still really young when we graduated high school and…we kind of lost touch for a while.”

Not sure what to say to that, Ian just drank his coffee, which was cool enough now for a larger swallow. It was good. The last time he was at the house, Charlie said that Alan did most of the shopping and preferred to get whole beans and grind them at home.

“I’m not going to say that this isn’t going to take some adjustment for me,” continued Don. “But this week was kind of a wake-up call. Puts things into perspective, you know?”

“What exactly happened there? I know the gist, but Charlie hasn’t talked about it.”

“An investigative reporter was getting ready to expose a real estate price-fixing scheme by this douchebag developer. He had his guys kidnap her to keep her quiet. Charlie somehow got on the news, so it was basically public knowledge that he was working on the case, and because of all the press about that book he wrote he’s not exactly hard to find. They followed him one night, scared him – he spent the night in his office at CalSci rather than drive home. And then the next night, he was on his way to the FBI to show us the results of a threat analysis he’d run.” Don closed his eyes and shook his head. “He was on the phone with me right before it happened – I had no idea, I was just thinking about getting more information on the case. Same guy rear-ended him, forced him off the road, got out and fired a shot through the driver’s side window.”

“Fuck,” Ian breathed, his blood going cold.

“Yeah,” Don nodded. “If it hadn’t been so dark out – if Charlie hadn’t been so quick on his feet… He got out on the passenger side and scrambled up this slope for cover, right? And then he hit the panic alarm on his key fob, caused a real commotion so the nearest house called the cops.”

“Smart.” Ian was impressed – that was quick thinking.

“Yeah, he is that.” Don grinned, trying to shake off the ‘what ifs’ that had plagued him for a few days now.

Loud footfalls on the stairs heralded Charlie’s arrival before he barged into the kitchen, a sport coat hanging off of one arm through the sleeve as he tried to pull it on over his T-shirt and jeans. “Where are my keys?! I’m late, I forgot that I promised Amita that I’d guest lecture for her Enumerative Combinatorics class.”

“Charlie, whoa, slow down! Your keys aren’t going to do you any good, your car’s still in the shop, remember?” Don put out a hand to halt Charlie’s frenetic searching.

_“Fuck!”_ Charlie’s free arm finally found the other sleeve opening of his coat and he shrugged it on, not noticing that the collar was half flipped up now. “I definitely won’t get there in time if I take the bus.”

“Hold on, buddy, I’ll drive you, I’m on my way to the office anyway.” Don polished off the rest of his coffee and set the mug in the sink.

“Thanks,” Charlie said gratefully, and dashed out to the garage to collect his satchel. On his way back through the kitchen he paused, lifting himself up on his toes to give Ian a kiss. “I’ll text you after I’m finished, maybe we can grab some lunch before I have office hours.”

“Sounds good to me, Professor.” Ian reached out and fixed Charlie’s collar before the mathematician could fidget out of range. Charlie grinned and kissed him again.

Don was quiet, watching the two of them until Charlie checked his pockets and satchel and pronounced himself ready to go. They drove to CalSci in silence for a while, until Don spoke.

“So this is working for you, then? You and Ian, you’re all right with him not being local?”

Charlie glanced suspiciously at his brother, not sure where Don was going with this. “Actually, yeah. It’s been working for me just fine.” He thought about trying to explain why it felt so much easier not to be a ‘full time’ boyfriend, that even while being spontaneous, having some notice of when he had to be attentive and pay attention to things like dinner dates was helpful. But even to him it sounded weird, not normal – he doubted he would be able to properly explain it to Don.

Don nodded absently. “And…you’ve thought about how it can get complicated, dating someone you work with?”

Charlie stared at him. Then he burst out laughing, so hard that he had to wrap his arms around his stomach because he thought he would fly apart with mirth if he didn’t. Some part of him felt just a little guilty, seeing the offended look on Don’s face, but he honestly couldn’t help it.

“What’s funny about that?” Don demanded, making a conscious effort to keep his attention on the road, instead of his brother doubled over in the passenger seat.

“Kim, Terry, that nice blonde attorney, what’s her name, Robin, Liz…” Charlie wheezed. “Oh my god, Don, you have no idea how much I needed that, thank you.”

“You don’t think all that experience might mean that I know what I’m talking about?” Don grumbled, but the corners of his mouth were turning up, as though he was fighting a grin.

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“Just a minute,” Charlie called in response to a knock at his office door. He was re-reading a section of one of his student’s term papers. This student was gifted when it came to the calculations, but her writing skills needed some work, and he was trying to make sense of the meaning behind one of her paragraphs. It’s not like writing was a strength of his, either – he wasn’t much of a speller. But if she wanted to publish she was going to have to improve.

He heard someone shuffle in and take a seat in front of his desk, and scrawled a quick note in the margin next to the problem paragraph. _Clarety over vocabulary – be concise!_ Then he looked up to see who his visitor was.

Larry sat in front of him, his hands clasped around his knee, legs crossed so that he could lean back in the chair. 

“Larry –“ Charlie faltered. He didn’t know what to say, it was pretty clear that Larry hadn’t been overjoyed at Ian’s awkward introduction the previous night. 

“Charles, I think it would be best if I were to speak first,” Larry said gently, and Charlie lowered his eyes to the desk.

“I would like to apologize for my behavior. I left last night after what was very clearly an important moment for you, without taking the time reassure you as to how much our friendship means to me.”

Charlie’s throat suddenly felt tight.

Larry continued. “I recall speaking with you previously in an attempt to express my feelings about your compatibility with someone like Ian – or, more accurately, Ian himself, and I acknowledge that I spoke without knowing him as well as you obviously do. I spent some time in meditation this morning, and came to the conclusion that I have clearly not been acting as the kind of friend you would feel comfortable sharing this with, given that you had not told me until last night.” He held up a hand as he saw Charlie open his mouth to object. “Charles, a little self-introspection never did anyone harm, and it allowed me to recognize that I have an opportunity now to, in some small way, repay some of the generosity you showed me before my journey to low earth orbit. I know that final approval was almost entirely due to you personally vouching for my character, in spite of your concern for my safety. The very least I can do is remember your own character, that you have remarkably good judgment, and would not invest in anyone who was not worthy of your time.”

“Larry, I – thank you. Thank you for saying that, you’re my best friend,” Charlie said earnestly. “But you don’t owe me any kind of payback, I only did what I should have done in the first place, which was support you –“

“And likewise,” Larry said firmly. “I support you, Charles, and I applaud your courage in being open with your whole self.”

“Okay, I think I have to hug you now, and you can’t use the bone density excuse anymore.” Charlie got to his feet, moved around the desk and pulled Larry into an embrace. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“I’m sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t,” Larry said, awkwardly patting Charlie’s back.

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There were more cars than Charlie expected to see parked outside of his house as Ian pulled up in the rental. He supposed it was possible that one of the neighbors was having some kind of party, except that he recognized some of the cars and neither of his neighbors ever did much in the way of entertaining. Except for the memorable weekend during which Mr. and Mrs. Rawlins had allowed their college-age grandson to housesit while they were out of town, and he had thrown an open house party so out of control that frat brothers from rival fraternities and rival universities had united to ruin Mr. Rawlins’ expensive fishing gear by tangling it in the trees in the backyard during a drunken attempt to cast fishing lines into the Eppes’ koi pond. Fortunately there were no casualties, human or otherwise, although Mr. Rawlins’ grandson probably wished he were dead when his grandparents returned home and discovered the truly legendary mess that had been left behind.

“Dad?” Charlie called as he walked into the house, Ian following closely behind him. 

“Charlie, we’re having some people over for dinner, I hope that’s all right.” Alan appeared with a platter of seasoned raw hamburger patties in his hands. “Go start the grill, I’m putting you in charge of these.”

“What –?” 

“Ian, you’re doing vegetables. Onions, tomatoes, lettuce, right there in the kitchen. The cutting board and knife block are on the counter.” Alan looked at the sniper expectantly. Ian shrugged and pushed through the door to the kitchen.

“Dad, what’s going on?” Asked Charlie, bewildered. 

“What’s going on is that you’re grilling hamburgers for our guests. Don’s team is here, and I invited some people from CalSci. Take these out to the grill and I’ll bring you a beer.”

Charlie blinked and automatically took the platter from his father, thinking that he surely must have missed something at some point, but not sure what or when. Don was in the backyard, holding a beer and laughing with Megan and Colby. He trotted over as Charlie opened the propane tank valve and lifted the lid of the grill.

“Hey, buddy,” he greeted, taking a sip of the beer.

“Have I forgotten – is it someone’s birthday or something? What’s going on?” Charlie pressed the lighter button, hearing the ‘whoompf’ noise as the burners caught. 

“Not really an occasion, Charlie, just Dad…trying to make up for yesterday. You know him, food fixes everything.”

Charlie used the big spatula to start laying the patties on the grill. “And all the people?”

“They’re here because they want to be here.”

“Did you tell them?”

“No, Charlie, and you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But don’t think that you have to hide anything, either way.” Don clapped him on the shoulder. “You can’t run the grill without a beer. I’ll go get you one.”

“Dad said he’d –“ Charlie started, but Don was already halfway across the yard. 

It actually turned out to be a very pleasant evening. Charlie hadn’t done too badly with the burgers, even though there had been plenty to distract him while he was grilling. Ian had joined him after slicing vegetables to Alan’s satisfaction, watching him work. Amita, Larry, and Ray Ray were there, and Charlie was silently thankful that Millie had a previous commitment that prevented her from coming. It wasn’t as though he disliked Millie, but she could be a lot to handle sometimes.

Charlie suspected that Ray Ray had filled Amita in on the nature of his relationship with Ian, because she didn’t seem at all surprised when Ian had sat next to him on the edge of the porch and pulled him close. He didn’t figure out why Colby had been hovering around them until David, who had been running late, arrived and came out to the backyard just in time to see Ian steal a quick kiss.

There was a flash of light and then uproarious laughter. “The look on your face, man!” Colby was beside himself with glee, holding up a small digital camera. “Totally priceless, I’m going to frame this and keep it on my desk.”

“Colby, what the hell!” David made a grab for the camera. “Let me see that.”

“Uh-uh.” Colby shook his head. “Now you know how it feels to be the last one to find out.”

David rolled his eyes. “You’re unbelievable man, you know that?” He turned to Charlie, who was holding on to Ian’s arm somewhat apprehensively. “Hey, Charlie. Hey, Ian.” His gaze lingered on them for a moment, but he accepted a beer from Don and joined the rest of the party.

“Charlie, come help me with the dessert,” Alan called from inside the kitchen. 

Dessert turned out to be three pies from Charlie’s favorite Pasadena bakery, one of which was lemon meringue. Alan plated a slice of it and handed it to his youngest son. “I’ll keep another one by for you in the fridge.”

Charlie fiddled with the plate. “Thanks, Dad.”

His father put an arm around him, giving him a squeeze, not saying anything. But right now that was okay.

Charlie busied himself with running plates out to the backyard. It seemed like everyone there had a smile or some encouraging words for him – nothing specific, but even to Charlie it felt like the intent behind them was clear. He and Ian were together, and everything was normal. Nothing had changed.

“It’s been a nice night, Professor,” said Ian when Charlie handed him a plate. 

“Yeah,” Charlie agreed, settling back down next to him. “I hope…I hope you’re not sorry you came.”

“Not at all, babe.” Ian took a bite of pecan pie, and Charlie leaned against him, enjoying the small quiet within the laughter and conversation going on around them.

As the gathering started to die down and people made their goodbyes, Don actually volunteered to help with the dishes for once. Charlie noticed that Larry left in Megan’s car, and wondered if Megan had played her ‘wild card’ for tonight. 

Ian actually gave Colby a friendly slap on the shoulder as the agent was getting ready to leave. “Thanks for calling, Granger.”

After his initial shock, Colby grinned. “Hey, no problem. I’m glad it worked out. This case – we couldn’t have done it without Charlie, but it was hard on him.”

“You’ve got all of those guys locked up?” Ian wanted to make sure there weren’t any loose ends. 

“Two of them are dead – they decided to shoot at me when me and Don were checking out a warehouse during the investigation. The other one tried to negotiate a walk in exchange for information about Bonnie’s – I mean, Ms. Parks’ - location, but Charlie figured it out before it got that far.”

Ian nodded. “That’s good work. See you around, Granger.”

Charlie took Ian’s hand once Ray Ray, the last guest except for Don (who really didn’t count as a guest, given the amount of time he spent at the house) had left. “Hey, I have something for you. Come with me.”

Ian allowed himself to be led to the garage, where Charlie picked up a mason jar full of odds and ends and started sifting through it. After a moment of searching, he held up something silver in triumph. “Here,” he said, handing it to Ian.

It was a key. Ian held it in his palm, somewhat at a loss for words. 

“It’s to the house,” Charlie said, helpfully. “Just so, you know, you can stop by any time, and you don’t need to get a hotel when you’re in L.A., whether you’re on a case or not. Save the FBI some money.”

“Thank you, Charlie.” Ian put it in his front pocket, which reminded him of other things he had in his pockets just then. “I’m sure the FBI will be very grateful for the savings.” 

Charlie laughed. Ian slid his arms around him. “What else have you got for me in here?”

“What do you mean?” Charlie looked up at him in surprise. 

“Pretty sure you can think of something, with that big brain of yours,” Ian growled into his ear, following it with a light nibble and sucking Charlie’s earlobe into his mouth.

“Oh.” Charlie sounded a little breathless. He pulled away so that he could turn the bolt on the garage door, and tugged the old curtain so that it was covering the window facing the house. Then he grabbed a handful of Ian’s jacket, pulling him over to the wicker couch and pushing him down. He crawled onto Ian’s lap, just as they’d been the previous night.

“Interesting,” Ian acknowledged. “What else have you got?”

Taking Ian’s face in both hands, Charlie kissed him fiercely and ground against his lap. Ian moaned in response and grabbed Charlie’s hips, holding them in place and pushing up with his own. They groped at each other, using mouths and hands and sometimes teeth to explore every inch of exposed skin, and in some cases, skin that was obstructed by clothing.

Charlie reached between them, using both hands to undo Ian’s belt, then unbuttoning Ian’s jeans and sliding the zipper down. He palmed Ian’s cock through his underwear, sliding his other hand around the back of Ian’s neck in an attempt to hold him in place while he nipped at Ian’s lips in a silent request. Ian obliged, opening his mouth so that Charlie could really taste him. Charlie probed deeply with his tongue while moving the hand on Ian’s cock in slow, firm circles. He could feel Ian bucking up into the friction, eager for more, and he pulled away with a grin. 

Locking eyes with Ian, he shifted himself back off his boyfriend’s – his boyfriend! That was still new – lap and knelt on the floor, slipping his fingers into the waist bands of Ian’s underwear and jeans. Ian lifted his hips, allowing Charlie to pull them down far enough so that Ian’s cock sprang free. He broke eye contact to lean forward, flicking his tongue out to taste and twirl around the head. He teased for a bit, licking and kissing down along the length, tracing the big veins with his tongue and nuzzling the hair at the base before finally taking the tip in his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks and bobbed once before lifting his eyes up to meet Ian’s gaze. He was working on it, Ian had asked him enough times if he’d be willing to try eye contact. He wasn’t able to maintain it for long, becoming easily overwhelmed, but he was trying.

Ian’s breath quickened, seeing Charlie’s eyes peeking up at him through long dark eyelashes and curly hair, moving his mouth up and down his cock. He instinctively reached to get a handful of Charlie’s curls but managed to keep himself from thrusting forward into Charlie’s mouth. “That’s very…ugh, very hot, Professor.” And the way Charlie’s cheeks colored at the compliment just made it even more so.

It was actually a little too much, and Ian didn’t want to come like this – not yet. He used his grip in Charlie’s hair to pull him away. “Now I’ve got something for you.” He sat up fully, helping Charlie to his feet as he rose. 

He manhandled Charlie over to the desk, pressing his bare cock up against Charlie’s clothed ass. It wasn’t the best feeling, but the gasping moan that Charlie made in response was worth it. Ian pulled his belt through the loops and pulled Charlie’s wrists behind him, using the belt to loosely bind his hands together. The leather was stiff and Ian didn’t want to hurt Charlie, so it was more an implication rather than a reality that Charlie was restrained, but it was enough. With Charlie’s hands secured, Ian reached around to undo Charlie’s jeans, yanking them and his boxers down below his ass in one quick pull.

Putting a hand in the middle of Charlie’s back, Ian pushed him forward so that he was bent over the old desk. Charlie was trembling in anticipation of what was to come, and Ian smirked. He ran his hand over the smaller man’s lower back and cheeks while fumbling out the condom and lube he’d stashed in a pocket on a whim when he’d gone upstairs to use the bathroom earlier that evening. 

Ian took his time prepping Charlie, keeping him in place with a hand in between his shoulder blades and his thigh pinning Charlie’s legs against the desk. “Come on, Professor, we’re in the garage. You can make a little noise.”

Charlie had been biting his lower lip to stifle his moans. Just as he relaxed, Ian’s fingers moved firmly against his prostate, and he let out a yell. “Oh, fuck! Ian…I’m ready…”

“In a minute.” Ian was enjoying himself, although he didn’t intend to drag it out for too long. Once he was able to stretch Charlie’s rim far enough to fit three fingers comfortably, he grabbed the condom and tore open the wrapper, rolling it on and spreading some additional lube. He had to take a wide stance in order to put himself at the right level, and he pushed in slowly once he’d lined himself up. He carefully bottomed out, his hips flush against Charlie’s ass, then withdrew almost all the way and slammed in again, relishing the yelp he heard. He kept up this pace, slow but hard, leaving almost enough time for a whole breath between thrusts. 

Charlie’s trembling had advanced to full on shudders at this punishing rhythm, until finally he clenched down involuntarily as his toes curled in his shoes. “Oh god, Ian, please go faster, please…”

“All you had to do was ask,” Ian purred, and snapped his hips forward, picking up the pace and shifting his stance slightly wider. It wasn’t long before Charlie started to squirm urgently against him, and Ian buried himself in Charlie’s ass and pulled him upward, giving him enough room to grip Charlie’s cock. He fucked into him a little awkwardly while jerking him off, and Charlie gasped, sagging against Ian as he came. Ian growled and ran his clean hand up Charlie’s chest, holding him in place while he brought himself to orgasm in a few more thrusts.

Ian nuzzled and licked at Charlie’s neck, waiting for them both to calm down a little before pulling out. He unwrapped the belt from Charlie’s wrists and rolled it tightly, sticking it in his jacket pocket along with the small bottle of lube. 

Charlie turned and wrapped his arms around Ian’s neck, bringing him down for a slow, deep kiss. He broke it off first, pulling up his jeans and buttoning them, then looking around for something to use to clean up the desk. He saw a basket of dirty laundry waiting on top of the washer and grabbed a hand towel, making quick work of the mess both on the desk and Ian's hand. While he was messing around with the laundry, he figured he might as well start this load, and dumped everything that was in the basket into the washer. He knew that his father preferred that some of these items be separated, but they were all generally the same color and he was going to wash them in cold water anyway. 

Ian had righted his clothes while Charlie got the laundry started, and the two of them headed back into the house. If Don or Alan noticed them looking flushed and happy as they moved through the kitchen on their way upstairs, neither of them said anything. Although Don did have to turn away to hide a grin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set around S4E18/S5E1, “When Worlds Collide” and “High Exposure.”

Ian opened the door to his spartan one-bedroom apartment in Southbridge, Virginia. It had been a long hunt and the body count had been too high. It was difficult when his targets had targets of their own, and unfortunately he wasn’t able to stop this last guy before he’d killed the people he’d been looking for after escaping custody. At least he’d denied the bastard the satisfaction of dying on the run. He was going to die in prison, where he belonged.

He dumped his bag on the floor, carefully set his rifle in its soft case on the bar counter, and opened the fridge without much optimism. He rarely kept much perishable food in the apartment, since he was out of town more often than not. There were two left of a six-pack, though, and Ian cracked open one of the beers while sifting through the takeout menus next to the fridge, thinking about what to order. He decided on Indian food and nearly dropped his phone when it started ringing just as he was about to punch in the number for the restaurant.

“Hey, Charlie, what’s up?”

There was a pause, as if Charlie were trying to figure out where to start. “Okay, I just want to say up front that everything’s fine.”

“Professor, when you start a conversation like that it immediately leads me to believe that everything is _not_ fine. What’s going on?” Ian dropped the menu on the counter, turning all of his attention to the phone.

“Well, I’ve been arrested and my security clearance has been revoked. My lawyer is letting me make this call. Just wanted to let you know.”

_“What?!”_ Ian’s hand unconsciously tightened on the can of beer, enough so that he had to take a hasty sip before it dripped on the floor. “Charlie, what the hell happened?!”

There was a sigh. “It’s a long story, just…I’m probably not going to jail, my lawyer’s working on that right now. I’m going to have to hang up soon, you should call Don. He can tell you more.”

“Charlie –“

“It’ll be okay, Ian. Probably. Call Don, he’ll answer if he’s not still pissed. Talk to you soon.” There was a click as the call ended.

Ian stared at the cell phone in his hand, as if willing it to provide some kind of explanation for the call he’d just received. Why the fuck would Charlie be arrested? For illegally carrying the two in long division or some bullshit? He found Don’s phone number and hit the call button.

“Edgerton, this is not a good time,” Don snapped after he picked up.

“Well, given that I just got a call from Charlie I’d say that this is the perfect time, he said I should call you to find out what the hell is going on,” retorted Ian.

“Yeah, that sounds right, he breaks federal law and I get to pick up after him. You know, it’s the same damn thing I’ve been dealing with since that kid was born.” Ian could picture Don pacing back and forth, wherever he was right now. 

“Does it sound like I’m here to listen to your life story, Eppes? Tell me what’s going on with Charlie!” 

“He illegally sent restricted, potentially dangerous information to a foreign entity, specifically Pakistan, and then told the fucking government about it and negotiated his surrender. Some kind of protest because a friend of his was detained on terrorism charges.” Don sounded angry and tired. “They came to the house, Ian, and just took him into custody! And my dad – _my dad _– is fine with it, he’s talking civil disobedience shit and – and academic freedom. I mean, god dammit! Everything is fucked.”

Ian was silent, trying to take all of that in and make sense of it. “I’m taking the next flight out.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever, at least then he can explain this to you himself instead of trying to get me to do it.”

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Charlie sat in total silence on the sofa in the living room, only the rapid bouncing of his knee betraying his increasing agitation in the face of Don and Ian’s accusing looks, as if _he_ were the one who had done something wrong. He’d guessed what Don’s reaction would be, but he’d really thought that Ian would have understood his reasoning, even if he didn’t necessarily agree with his methods.

“I just don’t understand why you decided to throw this all away – four years, Charlie! We’ve been working together for four years, and you just gave it up – “ Don’s face was stony and uncompromising.

“I’ve told you why, you just haven’t been listening,” Charlie said, crossing his arms.

“Right, right – that whole academic freedom thing. There’s a million ways you could have done this without breaking the law or losing your security clearance, but no, you had to go and make a _gesture.”_

Charlie threw up his hands, an action that strongly reminded Don of their father. “I don’t believe this, _Fraley’s_ more on my side than you are – and I’m using the same words I said to him, so I don’t understand why he gets it and you don’t. And if there are, as you say, ‘a million ways’ that I could have shared that research without breaking the law, then it kind of goes to prove my point about how arbitrary it is, doesn’t it?” Charlie leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Did you know that Phil was going to present that same research at a conference in Italy this year? That the very research that got him charged with terrorism is going to be, for all intents and purposes, available to anyone who wanted to pay to read it?”

“That’s not the point, Charlie –“

“No, it’s not. You want to know what _is_ the point? I conducted a little scientific experiment of my own. I took some of my own research into fluid dynamics, the same stuff that I did back when I was consulting on racing yacht design, and I put a different name on it, a name common to Southeast Asia. I included some vague context about possible links to a suspected terrorist group and I sent it in to that FBI ‘scientist’ who reviewed Phil’s work on crop yield. Do you want to guess what happened?”

Don scowled and didn’t say anything.

“Looks like you don’t need to guess.” Charlie’s gaze shifted back and forth between Don and Ian. “Congratulations, Don, your brother is a terrorist. The work that I sent in can apparently be weaponized for ballistic missiles launched from submarines. Detention justified. Look, I know you don’t think this matters, but it does. If – when – Phil is cleared of those terrorism charges, he’s leaving the U.S. and he’s not coming back, and he’s taking his research with him. And he’s warning his colleagues in various fields about being careful with their own collaborations – this has already had a chilling effect on scientific research, and if things keep going the way they are, it’s only going to get worse.”

“So why you?” Ian asked suddenly. “Why are you the one who has to cross the line in order to prove a point?”

“Because I was privileged to do it!” Charlie snapped. “I’m well-respected in my field, no matter what happens I can still make contributions, whether or not I ever get my security clearance back. Don, I –“ Charlie bit his lip, then continued. “I didn’t ‘throw this away’ lightly, I thought very carefully about it, and ultimately I came to the conclusion that I could not stand idly by and watch while as yet unknown scientific breakthroughs were being suppressed or suffocated. Imagine if some prejudiced expert’s desire to help the FBI railroad a scientist prevented the development of a type of clean energy production, or – or a revolutionary way to treat cancer…”

“Charlie…” Don said, looking stricken.

“Why the fuck do you think we do this, Don?” Charlie demanded, his voice strained. “Most of us are in it for discovery and making things better for people, not worse. If Phil’s research _had_ been about some kind of bioweapon then we wouldn’t be having this conversation – but it wasn’t, it was about crop yields and its applications in famine-stricken regions. Because he’s from the wrong place, is the wrong color, and is associated with the wrong religion he spent _three weeks_ sitting in a federal detention center facing terrorism charges for sending a goddamn email, one which he had no possible way to know was even illegal. But me? I’m not being charged with anything, and I could petition for my clearance if I wanted to. Honestly sending the rest of Phil’s research felt like the absolute least I could do.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to petition for your clearance?” Ian had picked up on Charlie’s words. “Aren’t you planning to ask?”

Charlie looked at Don, waiting for his brother to say something. Don wouldn’t meet his eyes. The sound of a cell phone ringing broke the silence, and Don answered it, glad for the distraction. “Eppes.” He listened for a moment. “Okay, I’m on my way.” He finally glanced at Charlie. “I’ve got to go, we have a case.”

Charlie nodded, then stood and headed through the kitchen to the backyard, his steps taking him close to the koi pond and the soothing sound of the water gently circulating through the pump and back into the pond. He heard Don’s SUV pull away from the house, and a moment later he felt Ian’s arms drape over his shoulders from behind, the sniper leaning on him companionably and laying a kiss on the side of his head. “You’re the perfect height for this, Professor. Very comfortable.”

“Shut up,” Charlie snorted, not making any effort to dislodge him.

“What are you going to do about your clearance?”

“Let’s not talk about this right now. I want to know how _you’re_ doing. You look tired, and I know that it isn’t from the flight because you can sleep anywhere.” Charlie reached up and stroked one of Ian’s arms.

“Just got off a hunt,” Ian admitted. “It was rough. Too many people died.” He felt Charlie squeeze his arm comfortingly. 

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Charlie unwrapped Ian’s arms and went inside the house, returning a moment later with a couple of blankets. He spread one out over the grass next to the koi pond, sat down and patted it invitingly.

Ian smiled, settling himself on the blanket next to his boyfriend. Charlie grabbed him, pulling them both down until Ian’s head was pillowed on Charlie’s chest and Charlie was supporting his own head with one arm folded behind his neck. “Do you want to talk about it?” Charlie asked, once they were situated. 

“What’s to talk about?” Ian sighed. It felt good to be outside, with it just starting to get dark, the twilight just enough to still see clearly. One of the advantages to being in a place that had mild seasonal weather was the number of nice evenings to be had. “Just your classic career criminal and murderer putting an agent in the hospital while escaping custody, leading me across three states before killing his ex-wife and her new husband and orphaning his own daughter. Well, almost orphaning, I guess, since I brought him in alive. I’m sure the kid feels like she was orphaned. With a father like that she’d be better off.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie murmured, his throat tight. He started to run his fingers through Ian’s hair. “How’s the agent who was hurt?”

“He’ll make a full recovery. Not too sure about his future with the FBI, though. He made some rookie mistakes and two people paid the price for it.” Ian half-heartedly tried to prevent his eyes from drifting shut, but he was too comfortable to make a real effort. “I was already planning on flying out after the hunt, Professor. There was no need to go and get yourself arrested.”

“I thought you liked it when I’m in handcuffs,” Charlie said, and Ian smacked his leg.

“Not funny, babe.”

“It’s a little bit funny. And I think that I’m the one who gets to decide when it’s too soon to joke about it.” Charlie tapped his finger on Ian’s head.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Actually hold office hours. Spend more time on lesson plans. Work on cognitive emergence and write more papers. Dad’s made a helpful list of things that need to get done around the house.”

Ian was quiet. “Don’t you _want_ to consult for the FBI? What about the NSA, or the CDC?”

“I’m under no illusions that my small act of defiance will actually change anything, and I know it’s unrealistic for me to demand to work for government agencies on my terms alone – that’s easier done with the private sector, at least when you have the leverage. There are no guarantees that this wouldn’t happen again, and I admit that bothers me quite a lot.” Charlie paused, sorting out his next thought. “But I can’t deny that the work is fascinating, and extremely rewarding when it goes well. I don’t think I could ever be satisfied working purely in mathematical theory, it’s the creative application of theory that is the most exciting. And then there’s Don.”

“What about Don?”

“I…I worry that things will go back to the way they were before. Maybe not as extreme as when he was living in New Mexico, but even after he moved to L.A. we only saw each other at the house, and he was only ever there to hang out with Mom and Dad. After Mom died it was just family dinners that Dad guilted us both into, holidays and special occasions. We never really spent time together. I don’t think he does it on purpose,” Charlie said quickly, feeling the need to defend his brother from his own criticism. “But work is all he ever does – not that I’m any better, it’s just that when our work overlapped it was like…it was like we were actually friends. And now he’s pissed at me and I’m not allowed to do anything to fix it. He hasn’t said anything about wanting me to petition for my clearance. And if he doesn’t want me to, then I won’t.”

They were quiet for a while, until Charlie started to fidget, groping around with first one hand and then the other. 

“You’re much less comfortable when you’re moving around, Professor,” Ian complained, catching one of Charlie’s hands in his own. “What are you looking for?” 

“That other blanket, I brought two of them out here. I’m getting cold.”

Ian chuckled and raised himself up onto an elbow, shifting so that he could roll his upper body on top of his boyfriend. He lowered his head and kissed Charlie, slow and deep, his hand running down Charlie’s side. “I think I can warm you up.”

“Not right in the middle of the backyard, you can’t.” Charlie couldn’t hide his blush, even in the fading light. “Just the blanket for now. Save it for when we go upstairs, big guy.”

Sighing theatrically, Ian fumbled around for the other blanket and flapped it open, letting it settle over both of them as they watched the first stars come out.

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“Somebody tore up their gear pretty good. They were definitely looking for something,” David was saying as he surveyed the upper part of the crime scene. A climber lay a few yards away, a gunshot wound in his head, his equipment scattered across the rocky ground.

Colby nodded. “We need to find somebody who knows the mountains.” 

“Boo.” Ian said, causing them both to turn in surprise. He smirked.

“Maybe we can see if Ian Edgerton’s around.” David said, deadpan. “Don!” He called to get his boss’s attention, drawing him away from the evidence response team lead.

“What are you doing here?” Colby asked Ian.

“I just finished up a job and happened to be in the area.” It went unsaid that he was in the area to see Charlie, although Colby and David knew that was the case. Ian scanned the scene, seeing the bodies of the two climbers. 

“I asked Ian to come give us a little bit of his wisdom,” Don said, joining them and giving Ian a nod.

“I don’t know if you guys need a tracker.” Ian was doubtful.

“There’s a lot of innocent people up here,” David reasoned. “Kids, families, hikers… Puppies.”

Ian tilted his head, staring David down over the rims of his sunglasses. He maintained his gaze until David fidgeted just the tiniest bit. He liked Don’s team just fine, they were good people. But Ian never made it easy for just anyone to joke around with him.

“So why is the FBI involved in a simple double homicide?” Ian turned to Don.

“Check this out.” Don handed Ian an evidence bag, the one the team lead had just turned over to him. “It’s been processed. It was in a bag they used for chalk.”

“Found attached to his harness,” Colby said, pointing toward the broken body at the base of the cliff.

“An uncut diamond?” Ian squinted. It was a pretty big rock.

Don gave a short nod. “Yeah, seventy-two karats. Worth about half a mil.” 

Ian grinned. Now he was interested. “Not so simple after all.”

It took them about an hour more to finish processing the scene before returning to the L.A. office. When they stepped off the elevator, David motioned for Ian to follow him to his desk. “Hey, man, I want to show you something.”

Curiosity piqued, Ian sauntered over. David opened a desk drawer and removed a photograph, holding it out to Ian. The photo was of Charlie talking to Don in the war room. Don was dressed as he usually was for work in the office, while Charlie was completely outfitted – no, drowning – in FBI tactical gear, hair even more disheveled than usual, a training assault rifle (paint pellets instead of bullets) slung over his shoulder. The strap was so long that the tip of the rifle barrel was nearly touching the ground. Ian looked back up at David, completely speechless.

David grinned. “It was when Charlie was going through one of those short FBI training courses – it was his and Don’s idea, after that thing that happened with the reporter. We had to call him in a couple of times while he was in training to help us with a case, and that was when he was learning dynamic entry. I had to document the moment.”

“Well, I hope you have a digital copy of it, because I’m keeping this,” Ian said, his tone deadly serious. He couldn’t look away, the image in front of him simultaneously the sexiest and most adorable thing he’d ever seen in his life. “And if you do have a digital copy, email it to me.”

“Hey, you’re welcome.” David chuckled. “You probably already know that he shot the high score in the marksmanship section.”

“Two ninety-six,” Ian said proudly. “I’ve shown him a few things but he’s actually a naturally good shot.”

Nikki stopped by to update the team on what she’d found on the diamond, after running information through the jeweler security lines database. Ian liked her. She was bold and pushy, and despite her projected street-smart cop attitude she knew that she was a rookie in the FBI and definitely wanted to prove herself. She reminded him a lot of his sister, Jen. Tough and smart and eager for any opportunity to show it. 

When the discussion turned toward the science of diamond authentication, Ian suggested they go to Charlie, completely unaffected by the glare that Don shot in his direction. David and Colby looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Fine,” Ian said, deciding not to push the issue for now. “Then what about Larry and Amita?”

“Let’s go,” Don said shortly, grabbing his suit jacket off the back of his chair. He headed toward the elevators, Ian following behind him.

Nikki watched them go. “My nana would say that man is a tall drink of water,” she murmured to herself.

“Oh yeah?” Colby grinned at David. “Maybe you should go for it, Nikki.”

Nikki threw them a suspicious look. The two of them thought they were hazing her – and if this was hazing, they were either treating her with kid gloves or they were just really bad at it. If they wanted to see real hazing they should try being a petite black woman in the police training academy. “Maybe I will.”

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It was a lot harder than Charlie had ever thought it would be, seeing Don and Ian walk through Amita’s door at CalSci and knowing that neither of them were there for him. It particularly hurt to see Don’s momentarily panicked expression at seeing him in Amita’s office. He clearly hadn’t expected Charlie to be there. Charlie didn’t let himself think about whether or not Don would have even bothered stop by his office to say hi if he hadn’t been.

Instead Charlie gave Ian a quick kiss on the cheek and excused himself to get a cup of coffee, hating himself for resenting Larry and Amita for being able to stay and hear what the problem was. 

_This is your own fault,_ he told himself. _These are the consequences of your decision._

He decided to drop his bag in his office before heading down to the campus café to grab some coffee, and he ran into Robin going the same direction in the hallway. “Charlie!” She called, giving him a little wave.

“Oh, hey, Robin.” Charlie frowned slightly. “Don’s in Amita’s office right now.”

Robin caught up, keeping pace with him as he walked. “Actually, I’m here to talk to you. I want to help you get your clearance back.”

“You do?” Charlie looked at her in surprise. “Why is that?”

Robin smiled, rolling her eyes. “Girl Scout badge. Why do you think?” She stopped, forcing him to either stop with her or leave her behind. “I’ve won cases with evidence that you found, Charlie, and us prosecutors? We love winning.”

“I’m persona non grata at the Bureau.” Charlie shook his head, turning to go into his office.

“I’m not the only one who needs your work,” Robin said pointedly. “What about Don?”

Charlie had to fight to keep his tone casual. “He’s not pushing the issue. I guess he doesn’t want the headache.”

“I’m surprised.” Robin’s blue eyes were both concerned and calculating. “I thought the two of you would be fighting this a lot harder.”

_The two of us_, Charlie thought sadly. As if he and Don were a team. They weren’t now, if they ever were. He didn’t say anything, and after a moment Robin shrugged and left, probably heading to Amita’s office.

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Ian was cautious at first when he and Larry talked through the demise of the diamond courier and speculated on what had happened to the uncut diamonds he’d been carrying – and how one of them had ended up in a dead climber’s chalk bag. He knew that Larry was Charlie’s best friend and former teacher – a central figure in his life. He also knew that Larry didn’t necessarily like him very much, and while that normally wouldn’t bother him he didn’t want anything to get more complicated for Charlie, especially not right now. He could play nice when he chose to. So he did.

It was actually easier than he thought it would be. He’d always thought of Larry as kind of spacey – okay, _really_ spacey – but when focused on a problem it was obvious the little man had a razor sharp mind. They narrowed down the courier method to a small private plane, deducing that it had crashed in the San Gabriel mountains and quickly finding a flight plan that was missing a landing. Ian actually grinned at Larry. “This looks promising.”

Larry nodded thoughtfully, settling back in his chair as if his mind were switching back to a lower gear. “Tell me,” he said, touching his fingers together in front of him. “What are your thoughts on Charlie’s recent brush with the law?”

Ian looked sharply at him, considering what to say. “I think that the people who matter in the Bureau see this as a tantrum thrown by an academic, which is going to make things hard for him if he decides to appeal the decision to revoke his clearance. But personally? It was a gutsy move, him sending in his own research to be reviewed by that FBI scientist – though they’re going to call it a waste of FBI resources without acknowledging the result. And emailing his friend’s research, and deliberately informing the federal government to force them to take some kind of action... I respect it, but I think this is going to be harder on him than he believed.”

Larry seemed slightly surprised, as though he wasn’t expecting that kind of answer. “Don seems to see this a little differently.”

“Yeah, well,” Ian said, shifting back in his chair. “Don’s a leader. He’s got a team to think about, he already lost one team member to burnout.” He nodded to Larry, acknowledging Megan’s recent departure. “In order for his team to believe that they’re making a difference, he has to believe it on some level, too. Sometimes that means believing that you’re right. Sometimes that means focusing on the destination instead of the ride.”

“The ends justify the means,” Larry clarified. 

Ian nodded. “That’s a tricky thing. I’ve bent the rules myself, and every time it’s because I had a good reason. Or at least a reason that was good enough for _me,_ you see – that’s when the justice of it becomes more about the individual than the system, which is when things can get dangerous.”

“There are always those unanticipated variables.” Larry nodded again. “Interesting.” The physicist rose from his chair and wandered out to the hallway, leaving Ian behind. Ian wondered if he were meant to follow him, or if the conversation was just over. He shrugged. If Larry still needed him, he’d probably come back. He turned back to the screen displaying recent flight plans filed with the local regional airports.

A knock on the glass wall got his attention, and he looked up to see a woman standing in the doorway, dressed in a nice suit and carrying a leather case. _Lawyer,_ Ian’s mind readily supplied. But there was something else about her, too, like he was supposed to know who she was.

“I’m Robin,” the woman said, introducing herself. “I don’t think we’ve actually met in person yet.”

“Right,” Ian shook her hand. “You and Don?”

“And you and Charlie,” she said, smiling. “This must be tough on him, huh?”

“He said he’s keeping busy,” Ian said, his tone neutral.

“Don likes to keep busy, too.” Robin settled on the edge of the work table, directing a knowing look at the sniper. “You know, I kid Don that if he’s not working or having sex, he’s thinking about work. Or sex.”

Ian snorted. That was probably true. “Charlie just likes to work. It’s fun for him, he doesn’t want to stop.”

“That’s probably a little better. Don thinks that everything will fall apart without him.” Robin lowered her eyes to the floor. She looked as though she was thinking of something in particular.

“He’s the one in charge,” Ian shrugged. “He’s kind of been trained to think that.”

“Or…he doesn’t want to seem insignificant compared to his genius little brother.” Robin met Ian’s gaze steadily. “But that’s how they connected. Through work.”

“That’s what Charlie said, but honestly I’m still trying to get my bearings. One minute everything was fine and the next I’m walking into World War Eppes, and everyone but me is armed with a shit ton of baggage.”

Robin laughed. “You know how Alan would try to fix this, right? With food. The Eppes are obsessed with food.”

“Now that might actually be worth trying.” Ian grinned. “And if it doesn’t work at least we all get a meal out of it.”

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Charlie paced in front of his students. He was teaching one of his smaller classes – few enough people that they could just meet in his office, which was convenient. “Gian-Carlo Rota of MIT said that combinatorics is like putting different-colored marbles in different-colored boxes and seeing how many ways you can divide them.” He smiled at the quiet giggles in response to the anecdote, hoping that they’d now be a little more comfortable with the advanced concepts he was going to cover. 

The door to his office suddenly flew open behind him, and there stood Ian, dressed for the field and obviously in a hurry.

“Charlie,” Ian said quietly, removing his sunglasses. “We need you.”

“I can’t work for the FBI,” Charlie whispered, feeling his stomach drop. If Ian was interrupting a class…something was terribly wrong.

“Forget about that,” Ian snapped. “Your brother’s in trouble.”

That was all Charlie needed to hear. He didn’t even glance back at his students, he just grabbed his bag and bolted out the door. Ian stood awkwardly, nine college-age kids looking up at him in shock.

“Uh, the rest of you – take an early recess.” Ian waved a hand as though that meant something and hurried after Charlie.

The drive to the FBI office was tense. Knowing that time was critical, Ian had blared lights and sirens the entire way, speeding through red lights and swerving around traffic that was moving too slowly. He gave Charlie a short explanation of the situation, that they’d been scouting the San Gabriel Mountains for some signs of a small plane crash or that cliff face that the climbers had been looking for, and Don had gone radio silent. Shortly after losing contact, Ian and the others had heard an exchange of gunfire without knowing where Don had been. 

Ian snatched a visitor pass from the receiving desk in the office lobby and flashed his badge, ushering Charlie quickly through the metal detector and into the elevator. He was going to try to do this without the Assistant Director catching a glimpse of Charlie, but Charlie was going to help them one way or another. 

It was impressive to watch him work. Charlie saw the problem immediately upon walking into the war room where Larry and Amita were trying to locate the mystery cliff face using publicly-accessible satellite imagery. He got Amita access to a JPL database and instructed them on how the put the data together, locating Icehouse Canyon, the most likely location of the cliff face, in less than two minutes. Ian squeezed Charlie’s hand and rushed back up to the roof to take the helicopter back to the mountains.

He radioed Colby on the way, directing him to get all their resources up to the canyon. The helicopter had barely touched down before he was out and moving, his eyes and ears alert for any sign of Don or whoever the fuck had been doing all the shooting.

Staying in the trees for cover, Ian saw a big guy dressed in black, holding what was definitely not a hunting rifle. Ian cursed under his breath – his own rifle was back at the Craftsman under Charlie’s bed, because Ian had _thought_ that today was going to be about scouting, not satellite-assisted search and rescue. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

The guy was aiming downhill at moving targets crossing a dry creek bed. One of those targets was Don. Ian continued in the trees and then cut down the slope directly behind the guy in black, silently drawing his Glock and aiming at his head, then reaching out to gently tap the guy on the shoulder.

“You might miss, but I won’t,” he growled. “Finger off the trigger. Thank you very much.” 

After securing the suspect, Ian headed down towards the trail. Don spotted him, jogging towards him with the woman he’d been running with in tow. “Hey! How’d you find us?”

“Well, I could tell you,” Ian said evenly. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“Oh, what, Charlie?” Don frowned and shook his head, taking off his baseball cap to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

“Still, it came down to the wire, this clown was going to pop your brain box.” Ian gave his suspect an ungentle nudge in the direction that would take them to where Colby had set up a command post.

“Yeah, what about the other two?” Don asked.

“Where’s Pete?” Asked the petite woman in climbing gear. Don gave her a reassuring look and turned to Ian for the status report.

“Well, Bobo here said they had a Jeep on the fire road. Nikki and Colby found the tracks, the vehicle was gone. We’ve got a chopper searching.”

A voice came over the radio on Ian’s hip. “Ian? Can you hear me?”

Ian switched the hand he was using to guide the suspect so that he could answer, grabbing the radio with his right hand. “Yeah, let me hand you to your brother.” He knew Charlie would want to hear for himself that Don was all right.

“Hey, Don. You okay?” The worry in Charlie’s voice came through loud and clear.

“Yeah, Charlie, I’m fine. Where are you at?” Don’s face softened slightly.

“I’m at the FBI. Listen, I think we’ve found the plane.” Charlie rattled off the coordinates, and Ian smirked. He should have known that Charlie wasn’t just going to sit around waiting, he was going to use his time at the office in the best way he was able.

Don pressed his lips together, torn between frustration and relief that this day wasn’t going to be a total write-off, with two suspects escaped and having taken a hostage. “Okay, got it. And…and Charlie? Thank you very much, but get out of there before the Assistant Director sees you or otherwise we’re both screwed, you hear me?”

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“Larry’s taken the listening device frequency and electronic shielding data to CalSci for…analysis,” Amita said, stopping by Don’s cubicle.

“Good, that’s good,” Don said absently, typing up his report.

Amita rolled the office chair from the unoccupied cubicle across the aisle and took a seat. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.”

“Yeah, that got pretty hairy for a minute,” Don admitted, rubbing the back of his head and then stretching his arms.

“Well, if it had been up to me and Larry, we might still be trying to find that cliff face and the site of the plane crash.”

Don looked at her, his face blank. Then he glanced around the bullpen, making sure that Merrick wasn’t anywhere on the floor. “You two are doing just fine. You can’t tell me that you and Larry together doesn’t mean a hell of a lot of brain power.”

“This isn’t about that, Don. You could bring in anyone with an IQ over 140 and they wouldn’t necessarily be able to do what Charlie does. Or did. Because Charlie has taken the time to expand his knowledge, he hasn’t limited himself to math and number theory. He reads criminology texts in his spare time. He knows the ins and outs of various law enforcement agencies. He makes cross-disciplinary friends who do favors for him, and that makes him a significant asset to you.”

“Amita, it’s complicated…”

“No, it’s not,” Amita shook her head, pushing her dark hair behind one ear. “Other agencies have already contacted him. You know he knows the Assistant Director of the NSA personally, right? Did you think that no one else he’s consulted for would want his clearance to be reinstated?”

Don frowned. “Are you saying that Robert Thompkins called him?”

“I’m saying that you should ask yourself why Charlie isn’t taking action on this when almost everyone around him is telling him he should,” Amita said, and stood up. “I’m going to grab a coffee. I’ll let you know when I hear from Larry.”

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Nikki made her way to the back of the FBI SWAT truck, tearing open the Velcro on the side of her vest. She was eager to get it off – wearing tactical gear during an L.A. summer was no joke. She was just hanging it up in the rack when Ian came around the corner on the other side, his own vest hanging off his arm. She took a moment to appreciate the view, running her eyes up the muscles of his arm and across his chest. 

“Hey, thanks for your help,” she said with a smile. “I would have signed up for the FBI sooner if I’d known it would be like this.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty damn great, aren’t I?” Ian grinned, showing a flash of white teeth. 

“I was talking about the raid,” Nikki clarified, raising her chin.

“So was I.” Ian moved to hang up his vest, and Nikki stayed where she was, intentionally brushing up against his side.

“You in town for long? Because if so I may be available for dinner. If you are.” 

Ian smirked and looked down at her. “Under other circumstances I might be tempted.”

“What are your circumstances, then? You married? Girlfriend?” Nikki backed off, now more curious than anything.

“Nope.” Ian settled the vest in place. “Boyfriend. Don’t know if you’ve met him yet, given…events. Charlie Eppes.”

“Charlie Eppes…like the boss’s brother? The math nerd?” Nikki couldn’t believe it. She suddenly remembered Colby’s shit-eating grin back at the office. She was going to make him pay for that.

Ian’s smirk faded, and he looked at Nikki intently, tilting his head slightly as though evaluating her. “Betancourt, you’ve got the potential to be one hell of an agent. So I’m going to give you some free advice: you’re never in a worse position than when you don’t know what you don’t know. I respect the fact that you’ve already had a career in law enforcement, but LAPD is not the Bureau. The people here, the people on your team, they have things to teach you. Don’t cheat yourself out of the chance to learn from them.”

Nikki set her jaw and made herself look him in the eye, not liking the discomfort she was feeling at the truth of Ian’s words. “Okay. Any other tips you got for me?”

“Yeah.” Ian grinned again. “Just one: when Charlie gets his clearance back you’re not going to have any choice but to learn from _him,_ he teaches you things whether you want him to or not.”

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“Got it, thanks,” Don said, then hung up the phone and turned to Ian. “The diamonds are in a safe deposit box registered to our friend Keith Jackson.”

Ian nodded, glad that the case was now basically closed, but Don’s satisfaction was rubbing him the wrong way. “We couldn’t have done it without Charlie.”

Don looked away, shaking his head slightly. “Man, you have no idea, the flack I’m getting.”

The sniper was unimpressed. “Well, you do the job right, you’re gonna catch it. That’s life in the Bureau.” 

“I guess,” Don said. But he seemed thoughtful.

Ian left him to it, heading through the bullpen on his way to the break room, where Robin was just getting a bottle of water out of the fridge. She turned and jumped slightly, not expecting him to be standing right behind her. “Oh! Hi, Ian.”

“Bring Don over to the house tonight. Tell him his dad invited him, if you think that will go down easier.”

Robin looked interested. “Why? Are you planning something? Some kind of intervention for pigheadedness?”

Ian chuckled. “Not exactly, but I am planning on bringing a secret weapon.”

“And what is that?”

“Chinese food. Lots of it. I’ll order the whole menu if I have to. Just make sure Don comes by, all right?”

“Okay, sure.” Robin smiled. “It certainly couldn’t make things any worse.”

Making good on his word, Ian stopped at the restaurant in Pasadena on his way back to the house. He’d seen multiple takeout menus for this place on the fridge and by the phone in the Craftsman, and figured that it was an Eppes favorite. He waited patiently for the order to be filled, and the hostess was nice enough to give him a cardboard box to carry it all – it was a truly impressive amount of food. It wasn’t as though he was staggering under the weight of it as he made his way up the steps to the house, but he did have to ring the doorbell with his elbow, unable to quite reach the lock with his keys.

Charlie opened the door, and his eyes widened. “Oh my god, that smells amazing.”

“Hello to you, too, Professor.” Ian smiled. 

“Wontons? Did you get those cream cheese wontons?”

“Yup, also egg rolls, pot stickers, and egg drop soup with those little crispy things for starters.” Ian made his way over to the dining room table and set down the box. 

Charlie wrapped an arm around his neck and rose up to kiss him. “You are so attractive right now.”

Ian grinned against his mouth. “Hold that thought. There are people coming over.”

“People? What people?” Alan walked through the kitchen door, raised his eyebrows at the sight of all of the food, and turned back around to grab plates and cutlery.

“Larry and Amita,” Ian said, raising his voice slightly so that Alan could still hear him. “And Don and Robin.” He felt Charlie’s arm slip down from around his neck. The mathematician begin studiously sorting through the containers in the box, separating the appetizers, entrees, and rice and noodles, squaring the containers evenly so that the box edges were perfectly lined up.

Ian put an arm around Charlie’s waist and drew him close, squeezing slightly. “It’s going to be fine, babe. We’re just going to relax and enjoy some food, all right?”

Charlie nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“And there will be wine,” Alan said, setting the plates down on the table. He pulled a couple of bottles from the rack on the side table. “And beer. You didn’t do anything wrong, Charlie, in fact you did something very right. Don knows that, he’ll come around.”

“Hello!” Don called, opening the front door for Robin. “Oh man, did someone order Chinese food? Where are the egg rolls?”

There were just enough people around the table after Larry and Amita arrived that Charlie started to relax. No one had said anything about the case or his clearance, and things were almost starting to feel normal. It was nice. And it was happening because of Ian, Charlie suspected. So he shifted his chair closer to his boyfriend, putting a hand on his thigh under the table and caressing it gently. Not enough to be inappropriate – not _very_ inappropriate, anyway – but enough to give Ian something to look forward to.

“…so anyway, we get back to the corral and Charlie almost breaks his leg trying to dismount, he was in such a rush that he didn’t realize that his other foot was still in the stirrup. It’s a good thing they gave you the slowest, most easy-going horse in the group, that gelding was practically half asleep the whole time.” Ian grinned, dark eyes shining mischievously as the others laughed.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Charlie retorted. “You only took me horseback riding as revenge for making you ride the roller coasters at Knott’s Berry Farm.”

“You mean death machines?”

“Hey, I showed you the math! I laid everything out for you, I went through the loop circumferences and G-force calculations, told you about the acceleration and top speed, I even went through the numbers on the track construction. It was all perfectly safe, the math proved it, and you’re fine, aren’t you?”

“And you’re still in one piece, too, Professor, although your statement of ‘I’m dying, you killed me’ after limping back to the ranch cabins and collapsing on the bed made me wonder.”

Charlie shook his head rapidly. “Surviving that horseback ride was an anomaly – there is no mathematical explanation for horses. I ached in places I didn’t even know I had, and that was just a three-hour trail ride.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Don laughed. “Charlie Eppes, saying that there’s something in the universe that math can’t explain?”

“Horses may be the one exception.” Charlie’s face was grave. “Those things are terrifying. They’re so _big.”_

Alan wiped his mouth with a napkin and pushed his plate away, having polished off the rest of the rice and beef with broccoli. “You know, we uh, we set up the old billiard table in the garage but nobody’s played a game on it yet. Larry? How about it?”

Larry raised his eyebrows. “You dare challenge a physicist to a game of pool, sir? Fair warning, I discuss this game extensively in my units on momentum.”

“You discuss it or you play it? Theory might not do you any good here.” Alan laughed. 

“I’ll play the winner,” Amita said quickly, rising to her feet and following them through the kitchen.

“You know, Charlie,” Robin said, breaking the resulting silence at the table. “For someone who can’t work for the FBI you seem to have done a lot of work on this case.”

“Not officially,” Charlie said, using his chopsticks to toy with some stray noodles on his plate. “Besides, Ian didn’t give me much choice.” 

Ian grinned, putting a hand on the back of Charlie’s neck, his fingers gently playing with the curls there. 

Don smiled softly. “Yeah, it’s tough to say no to someone who can kill a person from a thousand yards away.”

“Nah, it’s just hard to say no to this face.” Charlie turned, surprising Ian with a peck on the lips.

“See, this only makes my argument for me,” Robin said seriously. “I really think you should appeal the FBI’s decision.”

Charlie wavered, not daring to look at Don.

“Yeah, me too.” Don said, causing Charlie to finally meet his eyes.

“You do?” 

“Yeah, I do.” Don’s tone was firm. “You’re not a threat. Come on, they know it.”

Charlie hesitated. “And you don’t think it will make things more awkward for you?”

Don sighed. It definitely would get worse before it got better. But this case had made it very clear that Charlie’s lack of clearance didn’t mean that he wasn’t still needed. Or…or wanted. As much as he had felt the lack of Charlie’s usual help on this case, he’d missed working with his brother more. “Ah, whatever. Screw it. They can’t mess with us.”

“Ooh, there’s a tough guy.” Robin smiled, leaning toward Don for a kiss.

“What about you?” Charlie turned to Ian.

“What about me?” Ian asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“This new background investigation, they’re not just going to make it painful and embarrassing for _me._ They’re going to go after my family and friends, too. You included.”

“I’ve been questioned by FBI bureaucrats with an axe to grind before, Charlie, I’m not worried.” Ian scoffed.

“All right, then,” Charlie said, nodding. “I’ll do it. I’ll appeal their decision.”

Don grinned and took a sip of his beer, rubbing his thumb along the back of Robin’s hand. “Good.”

Amita poked her head through the kitchen door. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but can I get some help to move a dryer? I don’t want Larry and Alan to try moving it on their own.”

“Why would they need to move the dryer?” Charlie was perplexed.

“Because behind it is where Larry shot the cue ball, and we can’t play without it.”

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It was too fucking early in the morning for the phone to be ringing, even for Ian. He fumbled on the nightstand for his cell phone, only managing to knock it to the floor. This just prolonged the ringing, and Charlie protested by pulling the covers over his head and issuing a muffled “Mmmpf!”

Ian shifted, felt around on the floor for the phone and picked it up, squinting at the screen. He patted the lump next to him apologetically. “Sorry, babe, it’s work.” He sighed and answered the phone. “Edgerton.”

“Got an assignment for you,” came a gruff voice.

“What is it, Lybecker?” Ian yawned. Beside him, Charlie started to move under the sheets, creeping over to Ian’s side of the bed. 

“Myron Winthrop, stockbroker, age forty-two, embezzled 16.7 million dollars from his own company’s pension fund. He fled the country yesterday after failing to appear in court. Go get him.”

Ian felt his legs being pushed apart and Charlie’s weight settling between them. He was suddenly very awake as his soft cock was slowly enveloped in warm, wet heat, and he put a hand on the sheets where Charlie’s head was, shifting his hips a little. “You said he fled the country. Any idea where he went?”

Lybecker grunted. “We have security footage of him entering customs at the international airport in Oslo. They don’t think he’s left Norway. Yet.”

“What kind of resources does he have?” Ian started to squirm. Charlie was basically just holding him in his mouth, but Ian felt him starting to swallow reflexively to catch the drool that was leaking around his mouth. It was…extremely distracting, and Ian felt himself getting very hard very quickly.

There was the sound of some paper shuffling over the phone, and Ian silently cursed Lybecker for taking his goddamn time. “Looks like most of what he embezzled is being held in an off-shore account, so until that’s sorted out you’d better assume they’re fairly extensive. Also, he comes from money – his father is really fucking rich, which makes you wonder why he bothered stealing that pension money in the first place, greedy bastard.”

Gritting his teeth, Ian tried his best to speak normally. “And my – ahh! – my contact in Oslo?”

“You okay, Edgerton?” Lybecker sounded almost concerned.

“Yes,” Ian said, his voice controlled. “Sorry, got a leg cramp.” Some perverse, unruly, unmanageable part of him made him add, “Charley horse.”

Ian felt Charlie pull off of him abruptly and press his face into his thigh, trying to muffle his laughter, and Ian fought to keep from laughing at all. Aside from the absurdity of the situation, Charlie’s breath on his skin tickled.

“Okay, well, the nearest legal attaché office is in Copenhagen, they’re sending an agent to Oslo and you’ll meet them there after you get through customs.” Lybecker moved some more paper around. “Your contact’s name is…Laerke Didriksen.” Lybecker stumbled over the pronunciation. “Your flight leaves LAX in five hours.”

“Right. I’ll check in when I land. Send me the case file, if you haven’t already.” Ian arched his back slightly. Charlie’s mouth had found his cock again.

“Just emailed it to you.”

“Thanks, Lybecker.” Ian ended the call, setting his phone down on the nightstand. He pulled the sheets back, glaring down at Charlie, who was looking back at him unrepentantly.

“Brat,” Ian growled. “Might as well finish what you started.”

Charlie did, bobbing his head with enthusiasm and pausing periodically to run his tongue up and down the shaft, nuzzling the hair at the base. His hands had slid up the inside of Ian’s thighs, and his thumbs were massaging small circles on tight muscles. 

Ian groaned, tipping his head back when Charlie swallowed him almost all the way down, repeating the motion a few times before backing off and sucking hard at the tip. Charlie wrapped his hand around the base of Ian’s cock, stroking him in time with the movement of his head until Ian’s hips were jerking forward. Ian grabbed Charlie’s head, holding him in place while he finished in Charlie’s mouth with a few shallow thrusts.

When Ian let go, Charlie pulled off, licking his lips and smiling smugly. Well, there was no way Ian could just let that go. He leaned forward, drawing Charlie up for a hungry kiss, probing his mouth deeply and tasting himself at the same time. He reached between them and gripped Charlie’s cock, squeezing gently without stroking, running his thumb over the slit where pre-come was leaking freely.

“Get on your back, Professor. Grab the headboard and don’t let go.” Ian released his grip as Charlie scrambled into position, and Ian opened the nightstand drawer to grab the lube. He slicked up his fingers, shifting on the bed until he was between Charlie’s legs. He rubbed gently at Charlie’s rim, spreading plenty of lube before slipping a single finger inside. With his other hand, he lightly stroked Charlie’s cock. Charlie’s grip on the slats of the headboard tightened and he squeezed his eyes shut, his breath starting to come faster.

Ian added another finger, burying them all the way to the knuckle as he felt around for Charlie’s prostate. Charlie cried out when he found it, prevented from writhing away by Ian’s body weight over one leg. Ian was relentless, stroking against that sensitive gland while increasing the pressure of his hand on Charlie’s cock. 

When Charlie winced at the dry feeling of Ian’s hand, Ian shifted, lowering himself down and taking Charlie’s cock into his mouth instead. He didn’t let up on the fingering – in fact, he decided to add a third finger as he hollowed his cheeks. God, the noises his boyfriend made…

Charlie’s hips twitched under Ian’s weight and he came, gasping and panting, still gripping the headboard with white knuckles. Ian swallowed and took his time, licking all around Charlie’s spent cock and eventually pulling his fingers out. He figured the sheets were due for a wash anyway and wiped his hand on them. He could feel Charlie’s hand grabbing clumsily at his shoulder and he obliged, moving up on the bed to join him. 

“Your flight leaves when?” Charlie asked with a sigh, laying his head against Ian’s chest.

“A few hours. Gotta get packed up, it’s international.”

“Where?”

“Oslo. Some stockbroker decided to run off with other peoples’ retirement money and I need to bring him back, probably to face the same judge that had decided he wasn’t a flight risk in the first place.” Ian ran his fingers through Charlie’s hair, knowing that he couldn’t fall asleep no matter how much he wanted to, knowing he couldn’t stay.

“Be careful.” Charlie smoothed his hand absently up and down Ian’s arm.

“These white collar criminals, they’re always surprised anyone comes after them in the first place, Charlie. The law is just an inconvenience to them, it’s like they never expect anyone to take it more seriously than they do. I’ll be fine, babe. I’ll call you after.”

“Okay.” Charlie was quiet for a moment. “Thank you. For letting me help Don, for whatever you might have said to him, for getting everyone together. And for remembering the wontons.”

Ian chuckled. “I think Don would have come to the same conclusion eventually, Professor. And it’s not…he wants to work with you. It’s not just because you’re pretty damn useful.”

Charlie wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, squeezing him tightly before releasing him. “You have enough time for a shower?”

“Yeah.” Ian tilted Charlie’s face upward, kissing him unhurriedly. “I’ve got time for that.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set around S5E11, “Arrow of Time.”
> 
> Content Note: very brief mention of rape, brief mention of child abuse, brief mention of theoretical violence in a synagogue.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Ian said tersely, after seeing the cab driver’s gaze on him in the rear view mirror once too often. The driver’s eyes snapped to the front and stayed there for a few minutes before flicking briefly back to the mirror. Ian didn’t have the energy to keep pushing it. At least that was marginally better than prolonged staring. 

Even though he’d started carrying his phone in his breast pocket, just reaching up to take it out caused Ian to grimace. It was probably time to take another pill, the emergency room doctor had been very clear that it was important for him to keep breathing as naturally and deeply as possible, and he couldn’t do that if it hurt too much to take more than shallow breaths. Ian shifted uncomfortably, deciding to wait until he got to the house. It couldn’t be that much longer, and he hated having to swallow pills dry. He sent a quick text and decided to just keep the phone in his hand for now.

After what seemed like at least an extra hour – Ian never thought the drive from the airport to Pasadena had ever taken this long, but checking the time on his phone told him it was no different than the usual drive – the cab pulled up in front of the Craftsman.

“You, uh, you gonna need help with your bags?” The driver asked nervously.

Ian was saved from answering when his phone rang, and he grunted, putting his phone to his ear. “Hey, Ian. Where are you? Were you able to get a cab? I told you I could have come to pick you up.”

“I’m right outside, Professor,” Ian replied, trying to keep his tone light. “I’d appreciate it if you could give me a hand with the luggage.”

“Sure thing, I’m just in the garage. I’ll be out in a minute.” Charlie hung up the phone.

That done, Ian considered his next challenge, which was to actually get out of the cab. He shifted carefully to the right and popped the door handle, using his foot to push the door open until it was securely propped. He set his right foot on the ground outside, took a deep breath and got a grip on the roof of the cab. He could not suppress a sharp groan as he heaved himself up and out, but with his grip on the cab he managed not to fall. He did take a moment to catch his breath, however, leaning against the vehicle.

“Hey!” The driver called. “Gonna need your credit card, dude.”

At that point Ian could have cheerfully punched the guy in the face, broken ribs or no, but a familiar figure hurrying up to the car granted the driver a reprieve. Charlie stopped, leaving a little space between himself and Ian, his eyes wide with concern and shock. “You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

“It looks worse than it is,” Ian grunted. He shook his head slightly and peered at Charlie. “What the fuck happened to your hair?”

Charlie huffed. “You look like you went through a rock tumbler and you want to talk about my hair?”

“It’s – it’s short! When did that happen?” Ian was looking downright mournful.

“A couple of weeks ago I went in for a haircut. Mistakes were made, and I ended up with this. It’s growing back,” Charlie said, reassuringly. Ian reached out his right hand and gently ran his fingers through short, dark curls. It wasn’t quite the same. He sighed glumly.

Charlie took a step forward and raised a hand hesitantly, looking to Ian for some guidance on how best to help him. “How – what should I –“

The blaring of the cab horn interrupted them, causing Charlie to flinch and Ian to bang his fist on the roof of the cab in irritation. “I’m _getting_ it, asshole. Pop the trunk, then you can take off.”

“Ian, let me get the bags and then I can pay him,” Charlie said, worried but trying not to show it. “You just go inside, okay?”

Maybe coming to the Craftsman to recover wasn’t such a good idea, Ian thought moodily as he headed into the house, moving stiffly and having to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. He could already tell that he wasn’t going to be pleasant to be around for the foreseeable future, and if it hadn’t been for the doctor insisting that he needed to recover in a place where other people could observe him for complications, he would have just holed up in his apartment for a few weeks before pursuing medical clearance to return to work.

Ian opened the front door and shuffled inside, hearing the cab drive off behind him. He wasn’t sure where to go – the prospect of climbing the stairs was not appealing. He’d just spent an hour in a cab and five hours before that in a plane, so sitting was out. But standing was starting to wear on him, too, and he really, really needed some pain meds. So maybe the kitchen first? He sighed, leaning on the round table in the entry way where Charlie usually dumped his keys and the day’s mail. 

“Charlie –“ Alan said, coming from the kitchen to the dining room, and stopped in his tracks when he saw Ian. “Oh my god, Ian! What happened?”

“I was hit with a blunt instrument,” Ian said drily, closing his eyes for a moment to gather the strength for Alan’s inevitable questions.

“A blunt instrument, huh? What was it? You look terrible.”

“A Lexus coupe. Hurt like a motherfucker.” Ian looked behind him as Charlie came through the door with Ian’s duffle bag and rifle case. 

“I’m just going to take these upstairs, I’ll be right back,” Charlie assured him. “Dad, could you get Ian some water?”

“Oh yeah, sure, sure,” Alan nodded, hurrying into the kitchen.

Ian accepted the glass of water that Alan handed to him and fished his prescription bottle out of his jacket pocket. He’d just finished swallowing the pill as Charlie came back down the stairs. Charlie raised a hand and paused, not sure where he would be able to touch Ian without hurting him. 

“What do you need?” Charlie asked. “I know it’s only around six, but I can get you settled upstairs if that would be the most comfortable for you. It might be best, staying on the same floor as the bathroom for now.”

Common sense won out over contrariness. Ian gave a short nod and braced himself for the trip upstairs, gripping the rail with his right hand, his breath coming in pants by the time he was halfway up. He had to pause, then, to catch his breath. He wasn’t really feeling any relief yet, and he was having some trouble breathing. He swayed slightly, and Charlie reached out hurriedly to brace him. He meant well, but one of his hands settled under the broken ribs on Ian’s left side, and Ian had to choke back a cry of pain.

“Sorry!” Charlie said, snatching his hands back. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Ian said through gritted teeth. “Just needed a quick rest, I’m good now.” Somehow he made himself climb the rest of the stairs and shuffle into Charlie’s room.

Charlie followed him and closed the door behind them, fussing with the bedding, pulling the sheets back and adding some extra pillows to Ian’s side of the bed. He unzipped Ian’s duffle bag, shifting through the clothing to see if Ian had brought anything more comfortable to wear, or even to sleep in. He found a pair of soft gym shorts and held them up, eyebrows raised, to see what Ian thought.

Ian shrugged. “I’m…not sure if I can take these off on my own, babe.” He gestured slightly to his jacket and button-up shirt. 

“Show me how to help,” Charlie said, moving over to him. Ian held out his right arm and Charlie gently tugged the sleeve of the jacket off, and Ian shifted his shoulders and allowed Charlie to pull the garment off his left side. They did the same with the shirt, and Charlie relieved Ian of his pants without any prompting. He knelt down and held the gym shorts open, allowing Ian to step into them one foot at a time, and pulled them up so that they sat low on his hips. It was usually an irresistible look on him, showing off his sharp hip bones, and muscled legs, chest, and arms – but Ian’s normally golden-brown skin was mottled with ugly bruising all along the left side of his chest, dark purple and red-brown splotches concentrated on his ribcage. The left side of Ian’s face was much the same, and he had a two-inch gash on his forehead that was held closed with steristrips. 

Ian eyed the bed, considering how best to lie down, and then decided to just go for it. He sat down, pulled his legs up, and lowered his upper body with a groan.

“You want to tell me exactly what you’re dealing with?” Charlie asked, settling cross-legged on the other side, holding the notebook he usually kept on his nightstand. He was scribbling equations, the sound of the pencil scratching against paper betraying his anxiety over the question.

“The doc said four cracked ribs on the left side, various bumps and scrapes, a hairline skull fracture, and a concussion. All of which will heal on their own. Eventually.”

“I can’t believe you got on a plane the day after being hit by a car,” Charlie snapped, his fingers gripping the pencil so tightly that it broke in his hand. He tossed the pieces toward the wastebasket in the corner.

“I spent a night in the hospital,” Ian said dismissively. “Besides, they said that I shouldn’t be on my own for a while, and I don’t have…many options in Virginia.” That was an understatement. There was no one. No one he trusted, anyway.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Charlie said, squeezing Ian’s right hand gently. “I’m glad that you’re here. I’m just worried, that’s all. Do you need me to wake you up tonight? I remember Dad having to do that when Don got a concussion.”

Ian made a face. “That’s what the doc said, but I’ve got to warn you, Professor, that it probably won’t be pleasant.” 

“I’ll make sure you’re not armed,” Charlie joked, a small grin on his face. “So what exactly happened?”

Closing his eyes made things better, Ian found. He shifted a little, starting to feel more comfortable. “You remember that stockbroker I dragged back from Oslo?”

“That was two months ago,” Charlie said, and Ian could hear the confusion in his voice.

“Right, I was in New York this week to testify about some of old Myron’s extracurricular activities while he was in Norway. Myron Junior apparently wasn’t too pleased about the family’s change in circumstances after the government froze their assets, and he decided to lash out with Mommy’s Lexus, in front of a whole lot of law enforcement witnesses. I don’t think he was even targeting me specifically – he just floored it at the first FBI suit he saw. I managed to pretty much roll over the car, it could have been a lot worse. As it was, Mrs. Myron started screaming that she was going to sue me for breaking the windshield with my face. That whole family is something else.” Ian attempted to relax and breathe deeply and regularly. The previous night he’d rested with the assistance of a mild sedative. He wanted to try to get some sleep without it.

He felt Charlie’s weight shift as though he were going to leave the bed, and he reached out and took hold of Charlie’s arm, a silent request for him to stay. “I’m not really up for any more talking, babe, but I wouldn’t mind listening for a while. What’s going on with you?”

“Well,” Charlie flipped through the pages of his notebook. “I’m going to be speaking to Larry’s grad students about time-reversible chaotic systems this week. I could read you what I have so far, it’ll put you right to sleep.”

Ian snorted and winced, then felt Charlie’s hand on his right shoulder, gently stroking back and forth. Charlie began to read. While Charlie was on the short side, his voice was surprisingly deep and resonant, and although Ian wasn’t paying much attention to the specific words, the cadence was soothing. He found himself drifting off, listening to rather poetic descriptions of entropy, randomness and chaos leading to irretrievable energy loss to heat.

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“Rough night?” Amita asked Charlie sympathetically, setting a to-go cup of coffee in front of him.

Charlie yawned and took a sip. “Thanks. Yeah, a little. I had to keep an eye on Ian and it was just easier to stay awake. I had work to do, anyway.”

“How is he?” Amita raised her eyebrows as she took a sip of her own coffee.

“He’s…he’s been better. It’s going to take a while for him to heal completely,” Charlie said soberly, remembering how Ian had stayed awake after the last time Charlie had woken him, around five in the morning, in too much pain to try to go back to sleep. Charlie hadn’t left the house until he finished scrambling some eggs for Ian and his father had gotten up for the day, wanting to make sure someone would be there for Ian if he needed any help.

“Well, if we can be of any assistance, Charles, please be sure to let us know,” Larry said, playing with one of the puzzle toys that usually lived on Charlie’s desk. Charlie threw a grateful smile in his direction, glad that Larry finally seemed to be warming up to Ian.

“Charlie?” David poked his head inside the door, knocking on the doorframe at the same time. “You got a minute?”

“Sure, yes,” Charlie said, getting to his feet. “What can we help you with?”

David entered the room, Liz Warner following closely behind him. She was carrying a bundle of twisted white fibers, which she set down for the CalSci professors to examine. 

“So,” David said, gesturing to the fibrous mass on the desk. “Who wants to talk dental floss? It’s thirty feet long.”

Amita studied the rope. “Floss is sold in containers of twenty to one hundred and fifty yards.” She noticed the looks she was getting from the FBI agents and shrugged. “I’m an informed shopper.”

“Just eyeballing the density of this rope, I’m thinking that it’s gotta be eighteen, maybe nineteen thousand feet.” Charlie added.

“That’s three and a half miles of dental floss, even assuming an average container size of fifty yards...” Larry trailed off.

“That’s one hundred and twenty-seven rolls of floss,” concluded Amita.

“You guys find new and special ways to freak me out all the time,” Liz said, leaning back in her chair, smiling indulgently.

The three professors looked at each other, bemused. This was all just preliminary size-up, they hadn’t even gotten into real numbers yet.

“One hundred and twenty-seven rolls of floss,” David repeated, talking it out. “Which is a restricted item in prison for this exact reason.”

“Yeah, well, this, and the fact that it’s a great way to slice through someone’s jugular.” Liz added with a morbid grin. She made a pulling motion with her fists, as though tightening an imaginary garrote.

Larry made a face and put a hand up to his neck. “Oh, ah – ew…”

“Well, we could apply a simplex algorithm. The time it took to build the ladder based on difficulty of access.” Charlie suggested.

“Yes, and the limited time to work on it while the other prisoners and guards were watching,” Larry nodded in agreement.

“They would also have to find a way to hide the containers – throw them out,” added Amita. 

“So some kind of floss math tells us when they get started, so it might say something about…where they’re going. What?” Liz demanded, looking at the amused expressions on Charlie’s and Larry’s faces.

Charlie just shook his head, grinning. “Floss math.” 

“Okay, so we’re talking at least months of planning.” David said. “Buck Winters, he was all impulse. The other two, they’re masterminds, so –“

“Buck Winters?” Charlie interrupted, his voice soft and the smile gone from his face.

David looked at him in surprise. “Don didn’t –?” A small shake of Charlie’s head was all the reply he got. Both Amita and Larry were concerned now – they remembered the Crystal Hoyle case. Larry’s face bore a solemn expression as he set down his coffee cup, having suddenly lost any sort of appetite.

“You know, it all went down late last night and it’s still kind of early, so I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know you’re up yet,” David rambled, trying to come up with some kind of explanation. It would have helped if he understood what Don was thinking himself – it was like their boss had completely checked out of this case right from the start. And with Winters likely on his way back to L.A., targeting Don, that was worrying. “We haven’t even had time to notify Ian, what with him being part of the original case –“

“Don’t,” Charlie said quietly. “I’ll tell him.”

“You sure?” 

“Yes.” Charlie reached out to touch the strands of floss, rubbing the loose cut ends through his fingers absently. “We should be able to get you some information on this rope pretty quickly, it’s not a very complex analysis.”

“Sure, Charlie, that’s fine. Just…give me a call when you have something, okay?”

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The atmosphere in the Craftsman was tense and chilly when Charlie came home from his last class of the day. Alan was in his armchair, his face steadfastly buried in the day’s newspaper. Ian was sitting stiffly on the sofa, silently flipping through channels with violent stabs at the buttons on the remote control. Charlie sucked in a deep breath and quietly closed the door behind him.

“Hey,” he said lightly, approaching the sofa from behind and leaning over it to kiss Ian’s right cheek. “I could go for some pizza, how about the two of you?”

Alan just grunted from behind his newspaper. Ian shrugged noncommittally. Charlie raised his eyebrows, wondering if he would have to take Larry up on his offer of help – if Ian and his dad couldn’t be alone together while Ian was recovering, that could be a problem. He wondered if he could find something that Ian could do to keep himself occupied, certain that boredom couldn’t be helping anything about this situation. A couple of unformed ideas popped into his mind, but he set them aside for now.

“Pepperoni and veggies sound okay to everyone?” He called as he walked over to the phone, where the takeout menus were typically kept. He found the one for the local pizza place and called on his cell phone instead of the land line, wanting the freedom to be able to head into the kitchen to get a glass of water for Ian and a beer for his father. As he waited for the restaurant to answer and take his order, he considered texting Don or Robin to invite them over. He’d better get two pizzas, just in case, and make one of them without pepperoni. He didn’t think that Don was strictly kosher, exactly, but he had noticed his brother refusing pork products recently.

The situation in the living room seemed to have thawed somewhat, as Ian took some pain medication and Alan a few sips of beer. Charlie sent a text to Don, not really expecting an answer, but he might have more luck with Robin. “The pizza should be here in about thirty minutes,” he announced. He moved around the sofa and sat down, on Ian’s right side. He didn’t want to risk accidentally hurting his ribs again. Ian found a nature documentary and settled, dropping the remote and taking Charlie’s hand instead. 

Charlie’s phone beeped quietly. The text from Robin was brief. _Looks like we’re in for a long night at the office, sorry. I’ll make sure Don eats._

There was actually some conversation over the pizza. Reluctant to make Ian get up and move unnecessarily, Charlie just brought some plates and paper towels into the living room and let Ian and his father help themselves. He didn’t bring up Buck Winters’ escape – Don had obviously not wanted to tell them, and while Charlie could understand not wanting their father to worry, he was honestly a little offended that Don seemed to be applying the same thinking to him. He had his clearance back, he’d been working with the FBI again for a while, and he could _help_ with this. 

Ian seemed like he was moving easier as he made his way up the stairs after dinner, and Alan seemed relieved to have the living room to himself, wishing Ian and Charlie a very pleasant and very final good evening. They could hear the sounds of a baseball game on the TV before they closed the door to Charlie’s room behind them.

“Everything go okay today?” Charlie said, trying to work himself up to sharing the news about Winters as Ian piled up some pillows against the headboard so that he could sit up in bed. 

“Nothing unexpected, and it’s not your dad’s fault. I don’t respond well to being told what to do, in general.” Ian lowered himself to the bed and sat back with a sigh. “And it’s in your dad’s nature to…well, you know him better than I do.”

“Yes,” Charlie agreed, knowing full well how his father issued instructions no matter how effective he thought they might be, both because that was his personality and because he felt like he had to take on more of that role after Margaret died, even though his sons were grown by then. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Like I said, it’s not his fault. I’m not at my most charming right now.” Ian closed his eyes.

Charlie had a stifle a laugh – not many people would ever describe Ian Edgerton as charming. It was actually one of the things he liked most about his boyfriend, how little he seemed to care about what other people thought of him. He was suddenly struck with an idea, seeing Ian’s bare feet on the bed covers. “I’ll be right back.”

He ducked out of the room and retrieved a fresh towel from the linen closet, and then the small bottle of massage oil out of the nightstand drawer. He gently lifted Ian’s feet and sat on the bed, settling them on the towel in his lap. Warming some of the oil in his hands, he raked his knuckles against the arch of one foot, slightly increasing the pressure as he went.

Ian hummed in appreciation, some of the tension leaving his face. Charlie smiled. “So…David and Liz came by the office today.”

“Got a case?” Ian asked, enjoying the feel of Charlie’s hands. All that writing on blackboards must be a very specific kind of exercise, because Charlie had a strong grip, and his fingers were sensitive, picking up on when the pressure was too much or not enough.

“Yes. I’m going to tell you about it but you have to promise first to just…don’t do anything, okay?”

Ian opened his eyes, squinting at Charlie suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Are you going to promise or not?” Charlie didn’t look at him, concentrating instead on Ian’s foot.

“It doesn’t sound like the kind of promise I can make, babe.”

“You’re on medical leave. Don’s team is handling it…”

“What is it, Charlie?” Ian’s voice was firm.

Charlie sighed. “Buck Winters escaped from Corcoran with two others last night, and it’s very clear that he’s headed to L.A.” He could feel Ian’s foot twitch under his hands, felt Ian’s hard stare boring into him.

“He’s coming back to L.A. because of Don.” Ian didn’t phrase it as a question, because it wasn’t one. Charlie nodded, not trusting himself to speak, everything that had been worrying him since that morning coming back to the forefront of his mind in a rush.

“So what’s being done?”

“Amita, Larry and I are putting together a timeline for David and Liz, based on our analysis of the rope they used to climb the outer fence. They made it out of dental floss, but Ian – there’s no way that Buck or either of the other two could have constructed it without instructions. They used exactly the right kind of floss, they wove it together precisely, like they were following a pattern. They had help. Someone with engineering expertise designed that rope.”

“I guess Don has ruled out any kind of protective detail.”

Charlie shrugged. “Seems like something he would do, but I haven’t heard from him at all. I – I don’t know what he’s planning to do, Ian. The case was two years ago and I think – I know he still feels guilty about how…how it ended, even though –” Charlie bit his lip. “He’s done therapy since then, he’s started going to temple. And honestly it’s the going to temple thing that really worries me. Religion has this way of confirming people’s worst thoughts about themselves.”

“You think he’s going to do something stupid.” Again, it was not phrased as a question. Ian had relaxed once more as Charlie continued to knead the muscles on the bottom of his foot, but he was still looking intently at Charlie. His expression was hard, but it was tinged with genuine concern.

“I don’t _know,_ that’s the problem. I’m going to try to talk to him when I bring the results of our simplex analysis to the FBI tomorrow.” Charlie finished up his massage, poured a little more oil into his palm and then started on the other foot.

“Any bodies so far?”

“Not that I know of,” Charlie answered truthfully. “David and Liz were only telling us about the escape plan.”

“Good. Maybe we can round them up before anybody dies.”

Charlie’s hands stilled. “You’re on medical leave.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t still be useful,” Ian retorted, wiggling his foot in the hope of enticing Charlie to continue. 

“Ian…I’m not telling you what to do. But I’m asking you – please let Don’s team handle this.”

“Professor…” Ian sighed, but his tone had a note of warning in it.

“I don’t –“ Charlie swallowed, risking a glance at his boyfriend. “I don’t want another person that I care about on…on some kind of _list_ that Winters has been cooking up in prison. There’s no way he knows that you’re in L.A., too. Can we please just keep it that way?”

Ian’s face softened. “Come on up here.” He made a small beckoning motion with his right hand.

Charlie eased himself out from under Ian’s feet, wiping his hands on the towel. He made his way around the bed and settled down next to Ian, burying his face in his boyfriend’s side, and refraining from putting his arms around him the way he wanted to. He didn’t speak – what else was there to say? The sniper reached out and pulled him close. Ian thought about what he could say, but there weren’t any promises to be made. None that he knew he could keep, anyway.

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Don sat in his cubicle in the bullpen, lost in thought. In theory he was waiting for his team to report in about their stakeout on Tim Pynchon, the former cellmate of one of the escapees who had all but admitted to designing the floss ladder and the escape plan. But the reality was that his mind was two years in the past, remembering a set of impossible choices and the resulting decisions he’d had to make.

The desk phone rang, and after a moment’s hesitation Don answered it. “Eppes.”

It was David’s voice on the line. “We have McClaughlin.”

That was one down. Don was about to ask after the rest of his team, to make sure everyone was okay – although he figured David would have led with that if anyone had been hurt. But the phone began to ring again, this time on a separate line. Don frowned.

“Yeah,” he said distractedly. “Keep me posted.” He heard David’s irritated exhale before he pressed the button for line two, hanging up on his second-in-command. “Eppes.”

“Do you know who this is?”

Don knew. The voice had deepened a little since he’d last heard it two years ago. But he knew. “Yeah.”

“Then you know what I want.”

Don nodded slightly. “I do.”

Buck continued as if he hadn’t heard Don. “I want you to pay for what you did to her. And for what you and the rest of them made _me_ do to her.”

“I know, Buck.” Don heard Buck laugh bitterly in response.

“You don’t fucking know anything,” Buck growled. “I want a meeting. Just you and me. No one else.”

“That’s not gonna happen, you know that.” Don said, glancing around the office to make sure that no one watching him.

“It is. You’ll _make_ it happen. Because you see, I’m not planning on leaving L.A. I’ve got multiple life sentences and nothing to lose. And if I can’t get to you, then I’ll just have to settle for going after everyone around you. Y’see, I’ve had nothing much else to think about for two years now and I’ve got a lot of options, Eppes. And I’ve got a…a partner who used to kill for a living. I could go after one of your agents, I know –“ Buck laughed again. “I _know_ how much that riles you up. But I think what I want to do is start with the people that you love, take them away from you, just like you did to me. I’d start with your father. Or your brother. Or maybe I’d do a little _more_ research, figure out who the woman in your life is. Take her away from you, too. How does that sound?”

Don’s blood was like ice in his veins, his heart pounding as he tried to push away all thoughts of his family – of Robin – being hunted down by a spree killer. “All right, you want a meeting? You got it. But I’m going to name the time and place, and you’ll hear from me, you understand? You call here again and you might not get that meeting after all.”

There was some silence. “Fine. You call me on this number in the next twelve hours, or else I’m going sightseeing. You know, I’ve never been to the California Institute of Science – it might be worth visiting.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Don’s tone was neutral, but inside he was snarling as he hung up the phone. His movements and demeanor as he unnecessarily straightened items on his desk were cool and controlled, for all the world looking as though he were as calm as the koi pond on a still day.

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Charlie knew he had lost Don as soon as he’d started talking about Viterbi algorithms. He’d worked on this for hours, re-worked it because he didn’t like what he was seeing, didn’t like what the math seemed to be telling him. And now that he was trying to tell Don, he didn’t have the right words – he couldn’t seem to get through to his brother. 

Don was leaning back in a chair in one of the conference rooms, the screen on the far wall showing old news footage from the Crystal Hoyle standoff that had ended with Don putting a bullet in her head. He barely glanced from it to Charlie as he talked, and Charlie felt himself growing angry.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Charlie finally snapped, his temper getting the better of him.

“I didn’t have a choice with Crystal,” Don said, pausing the footage and pointing to the screen. “I think about this sermon I heard the other day. This, uh…this verse they were talking about. The _natach lach_. At least the way I understood it was, you know, what’s in your hand? What are the things that you _can_ control?”

Charlie was scowling, feeling conflicted and uneasy at this kind of talk from Don. The Eppes were never religious growing up – most of Charlie’s exposure to the faith had been through contact with extended family members, most of whom he disliked. Especially Aunt Irene. But when Don had decided to explore it more, it seemed like he’d talked about it with everyone _but_ Charlie, and he didn’t know what to make of that. Charlie made no secret of the fact that he was an atheist, but he worried that he’d come across as a potential source of mockery, somehow made it so that Don felt like there were even fewer things that they could safely talk about. 

“How are you controlling the situation by shutting me out? By isolating yourself from potential resources? In perceptual terms, memory can only be increased as correlations increase. You understand? The arrow of time can only take you from the past to the future. That what you do tonight, what you do tomorrow – it won’t put the bullet back in that gun. You’ve got to think carefully about what you’re about to do. Think about the regrets you’ll have two years from now.”

Don was quiet. Something about what Charlie said – the arrow of time – it reminded him of a metaphor his rabbi had used to help him understand a concept when he’d first started going to temple. “Charlie, what is it – that word for when things go from order to disorder?”

“Entropy,” Charlie answered immediately, looking a little surprised at the question. 

“Right, it’s the natural tendency for things to become disordered.”

“Basically,” Charlie hedged. “Depends on the context.”

“Yeah, well, I’m thinking of it like the idea of _yetzer hara_, you know? It’s the idea that people have a natural inclination toward evil – or like, disorder, and have to balance it with the _yetzer hatov_ – the inclination toward good. It’s like shooting arrows. You miss the target sometimes, and hitting the target once doesn’t mean that you’ll hit it again the next time. It’s a process, a skill that you have to learn, to choose _yetzer hatov_ instead of doing what might feel more natural.”

Charlie was looking at him in puzzlement, which was rare for him. Don felt like his little brother was so quick on the uptake for most things in life, easily grasping new ideas and running with them, but it didn’t look like Charlie understood what he was trying to say now. Don huffed in frustration, wishing that he had better words to explain something that he was still trying to understand himself. He decided to change the subject.

“How’s Ian doing?”

Charlie winced. “He’s still in a lot of pain most of the time, and he and Dad…well, they’re kind of learning how to spend more time together.”

Don’s lips quirked up in a smile. “I’ll bet they are.”

“It’s been hard to keep him from getting involved with the case, you know, it’s not just boredom. This one’s personal for him, too.” 

Charlie’s fingers started tapping in a pattern on the table as he thought back to when he’d come home from CalSci around midday that day, this time armed with a thick sketch pad and graphite and colored pencils that he’d picked up from the campus bookstore. He’d given them to Ian over lunch, and Ian had been pleased with the purchases, running his hand over the texture of the paper and nodding approvingly at the pencils. Charlie didn’t really know anything about art, but Larry’s father had been a painter and had strongly encouraged Larry to take it up himself, so the physicist had been a huge help in picking out the right paper and the ‘good’ pencils. But Ian had set aside the supplies, still continued to ask about the case, and Charlie could tell that the sniper was getting restless.

Don nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I know. He called me.”

“Don, you didn’t – you haven’t brought him in, have you? You know he’s on medical leave –“ Charlie said sharply.

“No, I didn’t call him in,” Don said, keeping to himself the fact that Ian had decided on his own to come in anyway after Don had given him the run-down on his plans. He felt a little guilty about it, but the truth was that he could use the sniper’s input, scouting the meeting location and making recommendations on where to place both FBI agents and U.S. Marshals.

Charlie looked relieved. “Okay. That’s good. Now, is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, Charlie,” Don’s eyes flicked back to the screen on the wall, the image frozen on the stolen car Hoyle had been driving. Black smoke was pouring out of the vehicle, the result of those grenades she’d been carrying all going up at once. “I think this is going to be over pretty soon.”

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“Ian?” Charlie called as he came into the house. He set his satchel down on the small table and glanced around. It was still early, but he didn’t see Ian in the living room. He wasn’t in the solarium, either, Charlie verified with a quick glance. He made his way to the kitchen. “Ian?”

Alan was putting the finishing touches on a pan of lasagna, spooning the rest of the home-made sauce on the top layer of noodles and then covering it with a very generous amount of cheese. “Hey, Charlie,” he greeted, opening the oven door. “Ian’s not here, Nikki and Liz picked him up an hour ago.”

Charlie froze. “What? What do you mean, they picked him up?”

“He, ah, he said he was going to help Don with this Buck Winters thing and that he’d be back later tonight.” Alan slid the pan into the pre-heated oven almost lovingly, then straightened. “Charlie? Is everything all right?”

Charlie didn’t answer his father. Instead he banged out onto the porch, flinging himself into one of the Adirondack chairs and pulling out his cell phone. Ian hadn’t called. There weren’t even any texts. He tried to shove down the mixture of hurt, betrayal, and dread he was feeling and attempted to think logically about this. This case was significant to Ian, just like it was to Don. It made a certain amount of sense that he would want to be involved regardless of the circumstances. He thought – or rather, he hoped – that Ian knew his own limitations best and wouldn’t put himself at any unnecessary risk. But that was the real sticking point. Unnecessary risk. That carried with it the implication of _necessary_ risk, as well as the fallible judgement of everyone involved, including Ian. 

Thinking logically wasn’t helping. He found Ian’s number and hit the call button. The phone rang until it went to voicemail, but Charlie hung up before leaving a message, leaning back in the chair and feeling tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes. His phone beeped quietly, and Charlie glanced at the screen.

_Need some space on this one. Not on tactical, just consulting on layout. Staying in observation with Robin. Back soon._

The tense knot in Charlie’s stomach eased just a little, but Charlie knew it wouldn’t go away until he knew that Don and Ian were both safe, and Buck Winters was either dead or back in prison where he belonged.

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Ian stood in front of the raised reading platform – the _bimah_, Don had called it – and surveyed the interior of the synagogue. The stained glass windows were beautiful, but Ian wasn’t here for the aesthetics. He was looking at the balconies and the exits, making a quick count of the number of available personnel and skillsets and determining where to stage them so that Buck Winters at least had the initial impression that he was meeting with Don one-on-one. The constant ache in his left side was a distraction, but he pushed it out of his mind, walking off distances and calculating angles as best as he could.

“What do you think?” Don asked quietly, joining him. 

Rather than pointing, as he would normally, Ian jerked his head up to the right balcony. “I’d say Liz, Nikki up there. David and Ugly Joe on the opposite side. Stick Colby in the pews for close range and back-up, two Marshals at the rear exit and the rest of them outside around the corner to cover the entrance after he walks in.”

Don swept his gaze around the large assembly space, nodding his head thoughtfully. He was grateful that the rabbi had allowed him to name this location for the meeting – he could have gotten legal about it, although he wouldn’t have wanted to. But it felt right, ending things here. 

“You sure about this, Don?” Ian shifted his arms a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. He was glad not to have to be wearing a vest, since he wasn’t even going to be inside the building when everything went down.

“Gotta end this sooner rather than later, Ian. The longer he stays free the more of a threat he is. Not just to me.”

“It’s your call,” Ian said noncommittally, but he agreed with Don. The fact that Winters had even mentioned CalSci specifically was far too close for comfort. If he had his way, Winters would be carried out of this place in a body bag. Although, Ian thought, looking speculatively back up to the front of the room where all the holy stuff was, it was probably more wrong to kill someone inside a place of worship than it was to kill them outside of it. They were still just as dead either way, but it wouldn’t be right to put blood or bullet holes in such a beautiful place.

Almost as though he’d sensed what Ian had been thinking, Don spoke. “I didn’t have a choice with Hoyle. For this one I do.”

Ian snorted, pinning Don with a pointed stare. “You did have a choice. You could have chosen to let me take the shot. I would have. And then your conscience would have been clear.”

“And what about your conscience?” Don asked. He sounded curious, not defensive as Ian had expected him to be.

“Would’ve been the best night’s sleep I ever had,” Ian said, suddenly struck with the memory of drinking himself to sleep and using a mathematician as a pillow. He felt an uncomfortable twinge of guilt for leaving the house without telling Charlie. But this had to be done.

Don gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. He was quiet for a moment. “I should have let you take the shot.”

“Damn right.” Ian looked up at the windows again, this time allowing himself to appreciate the artistry and craftsmanship behind them. “It’s getting close to time. I’ll be out in the car with Robin.” 

Robin actually got out and opened the passenger door for Ian when she saw him crossing the street, her eyes full of concern. Ian thought that it was mostly for Don using himself as bait for Winters, but he knew that he still looked pretty awful. The two of them sat in the observation car, Robin adjusting the volume on the radio set as the team checked comms. And then they waited. Ian was used to it, Robin was not. She couldn’t stop fidgeting, cycling through adjusting her clothes, checking the radio set, checking her phone. There wasn’t anything that Ian could think to say that would have reassured her, so he let the silence persist, and waited.

“That’s him,” Ian said suddenly, seeing a figure approaching the synagogue on the sidewalk. Robin gave a quiet gasp, and her hand crept toward Ian’s before she stilled, looking at him hesitantly. Ian closed the distance, giving her hand what he hoped was a comforting squeeze, and then they started to hear Buck’s voice on the radio.

The kid was angry and armed, that much was clear, but Ian had to fight to keep himself from rolling his eyes as Winters vented his rage at Don, everything that had been building up over his time in prison suddenly finding an outlet.

Don’s responses were quiet and gentle, and entirely _not_ what Winters had clearly been expecting. He’d let Don choose the meeting time and location, and come intending to die in a hail of gunfire. The tactical layout was sound – there was no question of Winters escaping, or of him even being able to get off a shot at Don. Ian heard David’s voice on the radio, too, giving sharp orders for the others to hold their fire until Don signaled otherwise.

And then with an agonized, frustrated scream, Winters surrendered. It was almost anticlimactic, Ian thought, though Robin let out a very small sob of relief when the team indicated that they had the fugitive secured. The two of them watched as the nineteen-year-old was led out to the Marshals SUV in handcuffs.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Ian said suddenly. “Wait until they give the all-clear, then you can probably go in.” 

Robin nodded, turning her gaze back toward the doors of the synagogue. Ian grunted and clambered his way out of the observation car, then crossed the street, heading toward the SUV.

“Hey, Joe.” Ian greeted the big man after he’d finished securing Winters in the backseat, which was partitioned from the front by wide wire mesh and could only be opened from the outside. “Mind if I take a minute before you go?”

Joe looked at him appraisingly, his eyes lingering on the cuts and bruises on Ian’s face. “You look pretty crappy, Edgerton.”

“Yeah, thanks, that’s why I wasn’t in it tonight,” Ian retorted. “I think I can handle a minute or two of conversation, though.”

The Marshal shrugged. “I need a smoke anyway. I’ll be right here.”

Ian smirked, then opened the passenger side door and climbed into the front seat. Buck Winters sat glassy-eyed behind the wire mesh, not appearing to even notice Ian was there.

“Hey, Buck.” Ian growled, finally getting the kid’s attention. 

Buck’s eyes focused on him and widened in recognition. _“You.”_

Ian grinned, showing all his teeth. “That’s right. You got lucky tonight, Buck.”

“Lucky.” Buck spat angrily. “I’m going back to prison.”

“Yes, lucky. You’re going to prison instead of the morgue.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Buck was almost grinding his teeth on the words. “You gonna hurt me again?”

“Got no reason to do that now,” Ian said. “I hurt you before because someone’s life was at stake and because you were a dick who enjoyed killing people. And I heard that you added another body today, so it sounds like you haven’t grown out of it.”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s up to you if you want to spend the rest of your time in prison waking up every morning feeling sorry about all the wrong things,” Ian shrugged. “You’re not getting out any time soon, so if you decide to stick it out you’re going to have to figure out a way to live with it.”

“What are you talking about?” Buck’s voice was sullen.

“I heard what you said in there. You know that Crystal’s the reason you ended up here, right?”

Buck suddenly flung himself against the wire mesh, even though his hands were still cuffed behind him. He howled in pain as his forehead took the brunt of the impact, trying to shake it off.

Ian shook his head. “Kid, you’re in handcuffs in a secure vehicle. What were you trying to accomplish just then?”

“You –“ Buck growled. “You don’t say a word about her, don’t talk about her! I loved her!”

“You probably did,” Ian acknowledged. “But she fucked you up bad, kid, and that’s why you’re serving a two hundred and fifty year sentence. She raped you –“

_“Shut up!”_ Buck hissed. “No, she didn’t, she loved me. She loved me.”

“Whatever you call it, she abused her position and the trust you had in her as a teacher, and you may not have thought so at the time but she ended any chance you had at a normal life the minute you two started killing people. You’re here because of her, kid. Sit on that for a while.”

“She saved me,” Buck’s tone was insistent, although Ian thought he detected just a hint of doubt. “My dad – you have no idea –“

“Yeah, I do.” Ian lifted his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, the pain in his head coalescing into a pretty bad headache all of a sudden. “You don’t think you’re the only kid in the world whose piece of shit father beat him on the regular, do you?”

Buck just stared at him, open-mouthed. 

“You’ve got a chance to get some clarity about things,” Ian said. “About who’s really to blame for where you’ve ended up, and you’re going to find that a lot of it rests on you. I just thought I’d point out that you don’t have to spend the rest of your life mourning the woman who ruined it, that you can put your regrets in some kind of order.”

There was silence from the backseat, and Buck had his eyes lowered to the floor of the vehicle. 

“And one more thing,” Ian said, his tone level. “You got lucky tonight because you came after a good man. Let me be clear that if he hadn’t pulled the trigger on Crystal, I would have. Any one of us there would have, because that’s what _she_ decided. So on the very small chance that you somehow manage to break out again, even with all of the extra surveillance and security they’re going to bury you under, you can come after me. And I’ll give you what you want.” 

Ian popped the door handle, mentally preparing himself to get out of the vehicle. He turned his head slightly for a parting shot. “Dick.”

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Alan was, as usual for this time of night, in the armchair when Ian finally made it back to the Craftsman. Colby had dropped him off, making up for Ian’s silence by rambling on and on about how Nikki now had this photo of him pinned down by an extremely angry and extremely strong female forklift driver, and speculating on possible avenues of revenge. Ian was actually grateful for the distraction, having opted to lean back against the headrest, keeping his eyes closed for the entire trip.

“He’s upstairs,” Alan said, not looking up from his newspaper, and turning the page with a loud and violent flick. 

Ian sighed, first taking a detour to the kitchen to get some water. He needed another pill. His stomach rumbled mildly at the lingering scent of perfectly-cooked lasagna, but he wasn’t in the mood to eat. He made his way upstairs, not sure what he was going to do or say. He guessed it would depend on how angry Charlie was.

Charlie was lying on top of the covers on the bed, clutching one of Ian’s pillows. It looked like he’d fallen asleep, and Ian was suddenly hit with a swell of affection. He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through Charlie’s lamentably short, dark curls. He wanted to have a very pointed, potentially violent conversation with whoever it was who had cut his hair like this.

The mathematician snorted and stirred, blinking up at Ian. Charlie was quiet for a moment, then unwrapped one of arms from the pillow and hugged Ian’s thigh. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, Professor. No shots fired, everyone is safe. The Marshals took Winters in.”

Charlie nodded. “Is there anything I could have said that would have stopped you from going?”

“Charlie…” Ian looked away. “I told you that I couldn’t promise you that I wouldn’t. It’s the job.”

“Sometimes I hate the job.” Charlie’s arm tightened around Ian’s leg. “What you do is important. And necessary. And you’re fucking good at it, you and Don both. But sometimes I hate it.”

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Ian kept stroking Charlie’s hair, and Charlie maintained his grip on Ian. Finally Ian stirred a little. “Move over. I’ve got something for you.”

Charlie’s head drew back in surprise, searching Ian’s face. When Ian didn’t elaborate, he shifted back, clearing up the space that Ian customarily occupied. Ian laid down and stretched slightly, wincing at the pain and thinking that it was going to be a long six weeks. He reached gingerly down to the floor and retrieved the sketch pad that Charlie had given him earlier that day, handing it to his boyfriend.

Sitting up a little, Charlie started to slowly flip through the pages. The first drawing was a rough sketch of the koi pond as seen from the back porch, done entirely in graphite. He turned the page and gasped. The next seven pages were filled with sketches of each of the individual koi, mostly done in graphite and long, flowing, unbroken strokes of the pencil. But Ian had also used the colored pencils to add hints and suggestions of the bright orange, yellow, and blue-black that made up the coloring of the koi. Charlie recognized all of them.

“Ian, these –“ Charlie started, but was cut off as Ian closed the distance between them and kissed him, in spite of the pain in his ribs. 

Charlie broke it off, knowing that it was too much for Ian when his breaths became shorter, sharper. “It’s okay, Ian. Thank you. These are beautiful.”

“You’re welcome, Professor.” Ian settled back down with a sigh of relief, his breathing starting to even out. “These were just quick and dirty, I could do better if I spent some time on it.”

“You’re good at quick and dirty,” Charlie said with a cheeky grin, snuggling down beside him, unable to take his eyes away from the drawings. “You kind of have a lot of time right now, at least for the next few weeks,” he suggested.

Ian snorted and winced, silently cursing his damn ribs. But the prospect of spending those weeks here at the Craftsman was suddenly something he actually wanted to do, rather than the best of a very limited set of options. “Very true.” He closed his eyes as he felt Charlie’s fingers start combing gently through his hair.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set around S5E20, “The Fifth Man.”

Charlie sat on the open floor of his new office, busily transcribing his work from the surprisingly large number of cardboard boxes that were stacked against the walls. He had to start unpacking soon and all of these boxes would be folded up and baled for recycling. He’d stayed up all night working on this neural network idea as part of his cognitive emergence work, it would be a shame to let it go to waste.

Amita popped her head in periodically to check on him, smiling slightly and shaking her head when she saw that he’d barely moved, just scooting closer to specific boxes as needed while he tried to put everything down in some kind of logical order. The math took him like that, sometimes – it demanded to be written down, it was the only way to clear it from his mind. And last night the invitingly blank sides of the boxes were the most convenient writing surfaces available. He hadn’t moved his boards into this new office yet.

He was so absorbed in his work that he almost didn’t register his cell phone buzzing in his jacket pocket, and when he looked up he was startled to find that there was no longer any daylight streaming through the windows. Someone had turned on the overhead lights in the office – Amita, probably, he remembered hearing her voice a few times during the day, though he couldn’t remember any specifics about what she might have said.

“Hello?” Charlie propped the phone against his ear with his shoulder, wanting to keep his hands free to continue transcribing. 

“Charlie, it’s David.”

“Oh, hey, David, how did everything go with – with the home invasion thing? Did you round up those guys?” Charlie squinted at one of the boxes, trying to determine if he’d started writing on its sides from left to right or right to left.

“Charlie…I need you to come down to the hospital. Cedars-Sinai. Don’s been hurt, Charlie, it’s…it’s bad.” David’s voice was grave.

Charlie suddenly felt as if he couldn’t breathe, his chest tightening painfully as he felt panic rush through him. He dropped his notebook and pencil, gripping his phone. “What – what happened?”

“I can tell you more at the hospital, I’ve already called your father. He’s on his way. But it wasn’t what we thought, Charlie, it wasn’t four kids pulling home invasions and robbery – these guys were heavily armed and they caught us by surprise. And there were five of them.”

Four. Five. These were simple numbers and yet Charlie was having trouble understanding them. Or maybe he didn’t want to understand them, because he knew that the difference between four and five meant that he’d screwed up, that he’d made a mistake in his payoff matrix and profile of the home invasion crew – and now…

“Charlie? You still there?”

“Y-yes,” he rasped, having trouble getting the word out. “I’m – I just need to get, um, I’m on my way. I’m on my way.” He ended the call and tried to get to his feet, his legs trembling with pins and needles as the circulation was restored. He tried to get a handle on what was happening, to understand why he suddenly felt like he was trying to operate someone else’s body. His mind was blank. He needed to get to the hospital but somehow he couldn’t remember what he needed to do to get there from CalSci. Was his car here? Or had he gotten a ride?

Amita walked in, her keys in her hand. “Hey, Charlie, I was thinking about grabbing a bite – Charlie? What’s wrong?”

“Amita,” Charlie choked out. “Can you drive me to Cedars-Sinai? Don. Don’s there.”

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Charlie had been in hospitals a few times after his mother died. There had been a few FBI cases, like the pandemic which he’d consulted for both the FBI and the CDC. Visiting members of Don’s team after they’d been hurt. For the most part he’d been able to distance himself from the memories on those occasions, although watching a mother of three suffer from a deliberately released Spanish flu strain had been awful.

But now the sterile hallways felt just as cold and suffocating as they had when his mother was dying, and Charlie had to consciously suppress the nausea that was threatening to force him to empty his stomach. Amita was holding his arm, gently steering him out of the way of other people going in the opposite direction. They encountered Alan in one of the hallway junctions. The older man’s face was strained and etched with deep worry lines, and his greeting was short as they continued toward the trauma unit.

Charlie spotted David standing next to the nurses’ desk, speaking to a woman in scrubs. “David, where is he?!”

“He’s in the O.R., okay? The doctors just took him into surgery.” David nodded to the woman, who disappeared behind a set of double doors.

“What happened?”

“The bad guys had some serious firepower, and we were outgunned,” David said.

“What about Don?” Alan asked.

“There was a fifth man. He was hiding in the guest house, and he surprised us. He hit Nikki, gave her a pretty good knock on the head and then stabbed Don so he could get away.”

Amita spotted Nikki heading toward them, gingerly holding one hand against her head. “Hey, Nikki, we just heard the news. Are you all right?”

Nikki grimaced. “Yeah. A few stitches, I still know my name.” She glanced down at the floor. “I was there. I was supposed to have his back.”

“No, no,” Alan said gently. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” His eyes landed briefly on Charlie.

“No, it’s not your fault.” Charlie’s voice was soft and raspy. “I predicted four invaders. I didn’t account for a fifth man.”

David’s phone rang, and he raised a hand at the group and turned away to answer it. “Sinclair.” He listened for a moment. “Fine, get it to the lab and we’ll take it from there.” David turned back to Charlie. “All right, SID pulled a partial print from a door handle at the scene, but it’s smudged. Could take a couple of days to get results. Charlie, you’ve helped us with this kind of thing before…”

Charlie remembered. It was during the plane crash case – he’d helped to correct the smudging from the computer tech’s fingerprints, which had been the first big lead they’d had. But this wasn’t something that he could do. Not now. “Using a wavelet-based algorithm. Yeah, no, I want to help you guys, but my place is here.” He wasn’t just going to leave Don, not while he was fighting for his life in the operating room.

“No, your place is where you’re _needed,” _Alan said firmly. He didn’t meet Charlie’s eyes. “All of you. Just find these guys – that’s what Don would want. I’ll call you when there’s news.” He brushed past them, heading for the waiting area.

Charlie stared after his father, mouth hanging open in shock. This wasn’t right, he knew it wasn’t. He was supposed to be here for Don, the way he hadn’t been there for his mother. He wasn’t going to do this again, he wasn’t going to let someone he loved… A chill ran through him and he had to swallow a wave of nausea. If he left now, Don could die. Without him.

“Come on, Charlie,” Amita said softly, tugging at his arm. “Let’s go.” He resisted a little, but finally allowed Amita to pull him toward the exit. Charlie was on autopilot, his feet moving without conscious direction, and he stumbled as he stepped off the curb to follow Amita to her car. It took him a minute to register the fact that she had asked him a question.

“What?” Charlie blinked, turning to look at her. Amita’s eyes were wet with unshed tears, her brow furrowed in concern. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you should call Ian,” Amita repeated gently. “I think you should call him.”

Call Ian. Right, he could do that. He fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket, not noticing that Amita was nudging him around the car toward the passenger side. He found Ian’s contact and called.

The phone rang a few times before it was picked up. “Hey, Professor, this isn’t a great time –“

Charlie interrupted him. “Ian. Don’s been…” He swallowed, having to work his throat a little to get the words out. “He’s been stabbed, he’s in surgery.”

There was stunned silence. “Charlie… Fuck, I – I’m sorry. How are you, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Charlie’s reply was distant. He was fine. He had to be, there was work that needed to be done, and he couldn’t let himself be a million miles away the way that he had been before putting together the payoff matrix for the case. The flawed payoff matrix. The one that had put Don in the hospital.

“You’re not fine,” Ian’s voice was knowing, and had a frustrated edge to it. “Damn it, I’m on a hunt, babe, I don’t know when I can be there. But it’s kind of local, right now I’m in eastern Oregon. We might be able to wrap this up quickly, if this lead pays off.”

_Payoff._ Charlie closed his eyes, his breath hitching. “It’s fine,” he said, knowing that Ian could hear the catch in his voice. “You do what you need to. I’ll let you know when…when there’s any updates.”

“Okay, Charlie, but I’m going to call you later, all right? And you can call me anytime, if I can’t answer right away I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” 

“Sure,” Charlie said. “Okay. Bye, Ian.”

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Charlie stood far back from the window to the room where Don lay, unable to keep his gaze fixed on the sight of his brother – his big brother, who had always been so strong – deathly still on the hospital bed, a ventilator doing his breathing for him, myriad machines whirring and beeping to tell the world that he was still alive. It was irrational, Charlie knew, but he thought that maybe keeping his distance meant that there wouldn’t be a repeat of the ‘cardiac event’ that had happened the last time he’d been here, just after Don got out of surgery. 

“I can’t take it,” he whispered. “I can’t take seeing him like this.” He rubbed his face tiredly. He didn’t even know what day it was. Ian had called him…two? Three times since the night Don was stabbed? But what did that mean? It couldn’t mean that two or three days had passed. He’d have to check his phone to verify the date.

Alan looked at him, his gaze considering. “Charlie, what’s going on?”

Charlie shook his head, trying to find the right words. “One more robbery case, one more white-collar fraud, one more string of home invasions by what seems like a bunch of kids. I…I whipped through the analysis for this case…”

“Charlie, what the hell are you talking about?” Alan asked, shaking his head impatiently. All of the stress of the last couple of days was wearing on him, too, and here Charlie was, making this about _him_ instead of working on the case like he should be – like Don would want him to. 

“I’m saying this isn’t about a breakthrough in cognitive emergence,” Charlie rambled, his voice shaking. “I’m saying this is about me venting my resentment, I’m saying that I’m afraid that this wasn’t just a mistake, that I –“

“Beating yourself up isn’t going to help anybody.” Alan’s voice was flat. “You have to decide where your priorities lie, because this –“ he motioned to Don’s still form. “This is the cost of _not_ deciding.” He deliberately turned away, fixating all his attention on Donnie, where it belonged right now. 

He missed the way his younger son’s face crumbled behind him, and didn’t notice when he left.

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Charlie nearly walked into his old office at CalSci before he remembered that he’d been moved into Biederman’s office. He stepped inside his new space reluctantly, unable to take any comfort from being in familiar surroundings, or even being surrounded by familiar things – all of his books and gadgets were still packed up in boxes. The same boxes he’d been scribbling on throughout the night while Amita and Alan had moved everything in – because he was having a fucking _breakthrough._ The same boxes which had held his attention more than the case that Don had asked for his help to solve. 

He sat down on the floor, ignoring the nice leather couch up against the wall, or the fancy office chair behind the huge carved-wood desk. He briefly considered trying to locate his headphones in whichever box they’d been packed, but most of the box labels were obscured by his neural network equations. In any case, the labeling was imprecise anyway – this was supposed to be a quick move, with everything packed for a short trip down a few hallways and then unpacked almost immediately. 

Instead, Charlie put his head in his hands, willing himself not to fall asleep. He had to be ready in case Don’s team called, he had to be ready to keep working the case if he was needed. His mind started to wander, back to the hospital and what his father had said to him. This was his fault. He’d known that already, of course. While technically his payoff matrix had been correct in predicting a four-man team, he hadn’t questioned their motivations at all – sure, they’d taken jewelry and cash in their previous hits, but that didn’t mean that was what they had truly been seeking. No, the fifth man was an anomaly, but one he should have spotted – one that he _did_ spot when going over the data again with Amita. So it was clear – this was his fault. He knew it. The team knew it. His father knew it.

Just for a moment, Charlie allowed himself to feel something that he hadn’t felt in years. Because he didn’t deserve to feel it. He let himself want his mother, let himself want to feel her arms around him and tell him that everything would be okay. But only for a moment.

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Ian frowned at his phone. He’d left two voicemails for Charlie so far, one before getting on a plane in Pendleton, and one just now after landing at LAX. The lead he’d been following when Charlie first called had paid off – eventually. Ian had chafed at the pace, but it wasn’t anything unusual for a rural area like Umatilla County. Fewer people meant fewer resources that could be devoted to chasing down a guy who had murdered a federal employee – this one a grandmother who worked for the IRS, who was conducting a routine audit on some ‘sovereign citizen’ prick who’d decided that he didn’t have to pay taxes for the last twenty years and shot her in a fit of rage when it turned out that the federal government didn’t agree. The guy had been surprised when the county sheriff was unmoved by his claim of self-defense, and had fired his weapon at the sheriff and his two deputies to escape to the woods. Ian found him a few days later in his second-cousin’s cabin, and had been none too gentle bringing him in.

Charlie had said that Don was at Cedars-Sinai, so that’s where he headed after picking up his rental and stowing his rifle securely in the trunk. He figured that nobody would be at the Craftsman, not with Don in the hospital. He parked and headed into the largest of the sprawling set of buildings, hoping to find the intensive care unit quickly. 

Ian passed by a small alcove before doing a double-take and moving back, seeing Robin feeding some coins into a vending machine. “Robin?”

She looked up at him in mild surprise, her face tired, her blue eyes rimmed in red. “Oh, hi, Ian.” She pressed two buttons on the machine and bent down to pick up the candy bar it dropped in response. 

“Hey,” he said. “I just got in, how’s Don?”

Robin pursed her lips and shrugged. “He hasn’t woken up yet, but his doctor is optimistic about his chances now. It was…touch and go for a while.”

“Good, that’s good.” Ian hesitated for a moment before reaching out to pat her shoulder. “Where is he?”

“Just down here,” Robin motioned down the hallway. “I’ve been here for a while, it was time to switch from coffee to chocolate.”

The two of them walked back down to Don’s room. Alan was sitting in a chair at Don’s side, reading a book that was propped up against his crossed leg. Ian looked around. “Where’s Charlie?”

“Working,” Alan said shortly, not looking up from his book. “He’s working on the case.”

“Oh,” Ian said, surprised. “He…I tried to call him twice, I haven’t been able to get a hold of him. I guess I just assumed he’d be here.”

Alan did look up then. “Donnie would want the guys responsible for this to be found. So that’s what Charlie is doing.”

“He’s probably at CalSci,” Robin said. “There, or the FBI office.”

“Is that all you got out of the vending machine?” Alan asked Robin. “I think that it might be time for some real food, for both of us.” He got to his feet stiffly, trying to rub some feeling back into the leg which he’d used to hold the book up. “I think there’s a cafeteria on one of the other floors.”

“Um, thanks, Alan. Whatever you get will be fine,” Robin moved aside to let Alan leave the room. She turned to Ian. “He’s been here for as long as Don has. Everyone…everyone is pretty worn out.”

“Sure,” Ian said, narrowing his eyes slightly. Robin opened her mouth to say something, but the ringing of her cell phone distracted her. She checked it. “It’s my mom. Excuse me for just a second, please.” 

Ian turned to face Don. The agent’s face was pale, and Ian could see just the barest hint of the movement of his chest as the machine compelled him to keep breathing. There wasn’t much he could do for Don – not right now. Not here, at least. And he wanted to find Charlie – he hadn’t spoken to him since yesterday, and during each call the mathematician had sounded more and more distracted. Distracted in a bad way, not distracted in the usual Charlie way, Ian amended to himself. He made his way to the doorway, then turned back for a moment.

“Don’t you fucking die,” Ian said to Don. “Don’t you dare.”

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“Hello?” Amita answered her phone. She hadn’t been expecting a call but wanted to answer it just in case it had anything to do with Don or Charlie. 

“Is this Amita?”

“Yes,” she said. “Is that you, Ian?” She wasn’t quite sure – she didn’t feel like she knew the sniper very well, even after as long as he and Charlie had been together. What had it been – almost two years now?

“Yeah, sorry to call like this. Charlie gave me your number a while back, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with him today. I’m at CalSci right now, but I don’t know where his new office is.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, our old department head retired and Charlie is now in that office, it’s not far.” Amita quickly rattled off some directions.

“Thanks.” Ian was quiet for a moment. “How has he been?”

“Not good,” Amita answered bluntly. “I think…I think he really needs you right now. I’m glad you’ve come.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” Ian muttered. It sounded like he was making his way through the math and science building. “I’ll keep in touch. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem,” Amita said, but Ian had already hung up the phone.

Ian paused for a moment, making sure that he had the right room number before opening the door. The nameplate slot was empty – Charlie probably hadn’t had time to put up his own yet. The office was big, much bigger than the old office was, and impressive. The walls were lined with built-in bookshelves, all crafted in a dark wood, matching the large desk that was off to the left. The room was also filled with boxes – nothing had been unpacked, and the brown cardboard surfaces had been covered with equations in a very familiar hand. 

Charlie was sitting almost in the center of the clear space, his back to the door. Ian approached him carefully. “Charlie?”

Normally Charlie would have given a startled jump – he was a little tightly wound most of the time, an attempt to keep his naturally high energy level in check, since he came off pretty strongly when he didn’t - it made people nervous. But Charlie didn’t jump, only turned slightly, tilting his head up. Ian sucked in a breath. Charlie’s eyes were dull and flat, with dark circles underneath them and the beginnings of a full beard on his face, like he hadn’t shaved in days.

“Ian,” Charlie’s voice was raspy in a way that made Ian want to immediately get him a drink of water, his own throat itching in sympathy. “You’re here.”

“Charlie…you look awful.” Ian sat down on the floor next to him, pulling him close. He wrinkled his nose a little – Charlie hadn’t shaved or showered, it seemed. “When is the last time you slept?”

Charlie leaned into him, rubbing his face. “What day is it?”

“Sunday.”

There was a pause, as if Charlie were doing a quick calculation. “Wednesday night, I slept. Moved into this office on Thursday after class…had a – a breakthrough.” He laughed harshly. “Did this all Thursday night. Then Don…”

“I’m going to take you to the house,” Ian said firmly. “Let you get a few hours, take a shower –“

“No!” Charlie pulled away and got unsteadily to his feet. “The case isn’t solved yet, they might need me, I have to –“

“You need a break, Charlie, I mean – look at you. Have you even been eating?”

Charlie looked down. “Yeah, a little, but…I keep throwing up.”

“Babe, this isn’t sustainable – you’re going to crash hard if you don’t get some food and rest.” Ian stood, starting to get really worried. He’d never seen Charlie like this. Sure, his boyfriend was prone to pushing himself through all-nighters when he was really in the zone, but Ian had never known him to go multiple days without sleep – or food.

“We can get something to eat,” Charlie said graciously. “But I can’t – I can’t sleep.”

Ian looked at him, noticing the way Charlie wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.” Charlie whispered. “I know…I know what’ll happen when I sleep and I can’t deal with that right now, I have to help with the case. I have to be ready to do what I should have been doing in the first place, instead of _this.”_ Charlie suddenly turned and seized the nearest equation-covered box, hurling it down to the floor. Ian heard the sound of breaking glass inside, and started forward as Charlie did the same thing with another box, this one hitting the floor with a solid thump. 

“Charlie, stop –“

“No one’s life depends on this,” Charlie grunted, grabbing another box. This one burst open when it landed, spilling books out onto the floor. “I was _here,_ doing _this,_ sitting here like this is something I _deserve_, like it’s something that _matters –“_

“Charlie!” Ian grabbed the smaller man around the waist and pulled him away before he could do any more damage.

Charlie struggled. “Let _go_ of me. Let _go!”_

Ian didn’t. Instead he shifted his grip, pinning Charlie’s arms to his sides. It was surprisingly difficult – Charlie was a lot stronger than he looked, but Ian managed to get a tight grip, careful not to put too much pressure on his chest. He waited him out, knowing that he didn’t have the energy to keep this up for long, and after a moment Charlie sagged, defeated.

The sniper kept his arms around him, waiting for his breathing to slow before loosening his hold. He moved, pulling Charlie with him as he made his way to the leather couch on the other side of the room, settling them both down. Charlie didn’t resist as Ian tugged him tightly against his side – he turned to press his face into Ian’s shoulder, getting a grip on his jacket.

Ian held him, kept holding him when he felt him start to shake with suppressed sobs. “It’s okay, Charlie.” He ran his hand up and down Charlie’s back. “It’ll be okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Charlie sniffed, his voice muffled. “This is my fault.”

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Charlie stared up at the image of the man on the screen, who was dressed in military fatigues and wearing a beret. The man’s face was scarred, and so hard and unfriendly it looked as though it had been carved out of stone. This was the man who had almost killed Don. This was the man who he had missed, the fifth man. The man was a war criminal, someone who had committed ethnic cleansing and was now trying to escape his crimes here in the U.S. Definitely someone to hate, even if it hadn’t been personal.

“If Radovic thinks that Alessi is trying to steal his diamonds, he’s going to be keeping his eyes on his stash,” David was saying.

“That doesn’t do us much good – we don’t have a key, we don’t have a location,” Liz pointed out.

Charlie spoke up. “You said you had digital video of Alessi handing a key to Radovic?”

“Yeah,” Nikki said. “From the cameras in Alessi’s lobby.”

“Show me,” Charlie said, setting aside a takeout container of egg drop soup. He and Ian had been at a Chinese restaurant when David called, saying that he had information on Don’s attacker. Charlie’s stomach had immediately reverted to minimal appetite upon hearing this, but Ian had talked him into at least ordering some soup to go. 

Nikki moved over to one of the other monitors, bringing up the security footage. She moved through it until she found the timestamp corresponding with Alessi and Radovic standing just inside the doors. 

“All right, stop it there,” Charlie said. “And zoom in on the key if you can.”

Nikki poked around in the program, bringing up an image of the key, thankful that Alessi had been paranoid enough to install cameras with decent resolution in his building. “What good is a picture of a key?”

“I can analyze this photo using a key-bitting program,” Charlie explained. “The pixel information and these bumps and valleys will be able to tell us a lot, enough that we could actually reproduce a functional copy of the key.”

“That still doesn’t tell us where the box is, Charlie,” David said, though he felt himself getting excited about this possible lead – the only lead on Radovic they had.

“Path minimization should help us there,” Charlie replied. 

“Analyzing the most efficient routes from point A to point B,” Liz explained, smiling slightly when Charlie looked at her in surprise. “Hey, some of this stuff actually sticks sometimes.”

“Well, explain it to me, I don’t think I’ve heard this one before,” Ian said. He was leaning against one of the tables, holding a cup of coffee.

“Well, we know that the deposit box is within a one-hour round trip of Alessi’s office, just from the time-stamps on the security footage,” Charlie said, some of his usual animation returning to his voice. “And we know the locations of Radovic’s safe houses." 

“Right, you cash in a diamond for ten grand, you’re going to want to get it home as quickly as possible,” David nodded. 

“What I can do is overlay those parameters and narrow down the search area to identify possible locations for the box.” Charlie flexed his hands, trying to work some circulation into them. “And if I run the key-bitting program, I bet I could call Ray Ray in to fabricate a copy of the key in his shop at CalSci.”

“Now that sounds like a plan,” Ian grinned. 

“How’s Don?” Nikki asked, her face solemn. 

“They took him off the ventilator, but he hasn’t woken up yet,” David said. “But the doctors say that he should, very soon.”

Charlie looked away. He hadn’t known that. Which meant that his dad or Robin must have called David to update him. He surreptitiously took his phone out of his jacket pocket and checked it. There were no missed calls from his dad. Only the voicemails from Ian.

“Do you need to run your programs from CalSci?” Ian asked quietly, bringing the rest of the egg drop soup over to where Charlie was now sitting.

“No, I can run them from my laptop,” Charlie said, patting his satchel. He eyed the soup with active disinterest, his stomach not up to anything more right now. Ian noticed, and set a bottle of water down in front of him.

“If you’re not having soup, you’re at least having water. Do you need to babysit the laptop, or can the programs run on their own?”

“The key-bitting can run on its own, but the path minimization analysis requires me to change the parameters as necessary.”

“Okay, then, go ahead and start that key thing. I’m going to take you down to the locker room, give you a chance to get a shower.” Ian’s tone was firm. “Trust me, you’ll feel better afterward.”

Charlie shrugged. His exhaustion was building. He didn’t have energy – or honestly, the desire – to protest. He opened up his laptop, seeing that Nikki had already emailed him the still image of the key, and started the key-bitting program. He could send the results to Ray Ray when it was finished.

The locker room was practically empty, seeing as it was late Sunday afternoon, so Charlie was able to relax a little when taking off his clothes. He’d never gotten the hang of showering in front of strangers – he’d only ever tried it once in high school, and it had not gone well. He’d only been ten years old and small for his age, while the rest of his classmates were at least fourteen. His mom had had to get involved and he got special permission from the school to shower either at home, or at a different time than the rest of his gym class. He remembered being ecstatic when learning that he wouldn’t be required to take any classes that might involve locker rooms at Princeton.

“You want company?” Ian asked quietly, watching him get undressed.

Charlie shook his head, too tired to realize that Ian offering to shower with him – here, in the FBI locker room – was not something that he’d usually do. 

Ian had brought his duffle bag into the locker room so that Charlie could use his toiletries and change into whatever clothing might work for him. Charlie showered quickly, and Ian had been right – he did feel better afterwards, although he was feeling the fatigue setting in more strongly now that the hot water had relaxed his muscles somewhat. He fished through Ian’s duffle bag, but they weren’t close enough to the same size for many – if any – of Ian’s clothes to be wearable. He borrowed a fresh pair of boxers and a pair of socks. The boxers were a little tight, but definitely better than returning to the ones he’d been wearing for days. He decided just to throw those and his old socks away.

Back upstairs, Charlie checked his laptop and sent the key-bitting results to Ray Ray, calling the engineering professor up and explaining the situation. Ray Ray, always ready to play with his ‘toys,’ as he called them, assured him that the key could be done within an hour of him firing up the laser lathe. Charlie texted Amita, asking her if she wouldn’t mind picking up the key from CalSci and bringing it to the FBI office.

The path minimization process was taxing. Charlie couldn’t seem to stop blinking his eyes, the details of the maps and the program parameter window frequently blurring out of focus. He finally ended up with, if not what he would have wanted in ideal circumstances, a workably short list of possible locations for Radovic’s security deposit box. 

“Amita’s on her way with the key,” Charlie announced, causing the agents in the room to look up.

“Okay, so what’s our play here?” Asked Nikki eagerly.

“We need to draw Radovic out,” David said. “And if he’s watching his stash, then the best way to do that is to empty the box, lead him somewhere we can take him in.”

“So, a decoy,” Colby nodded. “I’ll go in, get the box –“

“No,” Charlie said sharply. “I’ll do it.” He felt everyone’s eyes on him.

“Charlie, that’s not a good –“ David started, but Charlie cut him off.

“I’ll do it. I’m the least scary person here. You want Radovic to think he won’t have to deal with someone who can put up much of a fight – you send someone like Colby in there, he may decide to bring extra firepower, and who knows what he has access to. I don’t want you all to be outgunned again.”

“He’s right.” All of the team looked over at Ian, shocked that he would agree to this, but Ian’s eyes were on Charlie, an expression of understanding on his face. “All he has to do is get the diamonds and be seen going where we need him to go. We’ll have eyes on him the entire time. We pick an area that’s within sight of the deposit box location and I’ll cover it.”

David licked his lips. “Don wouldn’t want –“

“Don’s not in a position to make the decision, is he?” Ian said. “You’re his relief commander, it’s your call, David.”

Colby was looking from Charlie, to Ian, to David, waiting to see what would happen. He wanted a piece of Radovic if he could get him, he didn’t want to be kept out of the action. And he definitely did not want to put Charlie at risk, no matter what he or Ian were saying.

David was quiet, thinking it over. “Okay,” he said finally.

Colby immediately protested. “David, this isn’t – he’s not trained – no offense, Charlie, but this guy –“

“We’ve got his back,” David said, his tone brooking no further disagreement. “Let’s do this.”

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Amita watched as Ian held up two different vests to Charlie’s chest, eying them critically to determine which one would be a better fit. He finally decided on one and handed it to Charlie. “Take off your shirt, put this on underneath. Now, this is a stab-resistant vest, not a bulletproof vest, right? There’s a difference in the material and how it’s put together. We know what Radovic’s weapon of choice is, so this is what I’m recommending.”

Charlie nodded, removing his tie and starting to unbutton his shirt.

“You don’t have an undershirt?”

“It was…pretty gross. I threw it away after the shower.”

“I’ll get you an FBI T-shirt – you should have something on underneath the vest. Just trust me on that, it’ll rub you raw if you don’t.” Ian left the room, heading purposefully toward the storage area.

“Are you sure about this, Charlie?” Amita asked, worried.

Charlie shrugged awkwardly, a little embarrassed to be partly undressed in front of his ex-girlfriend with his boyfriend right outside – which was a ridiculous feeling, he told himself. It wasn’t a big deal, especially compared to what he was about to do. What was a little embarrassment next to acting as bait for a mass murderer? “We need to get this guy.”

“For Don?” Amita wanted to know. “Or for yourself?”

“As long as we get him,” Charlie said. “It doesn’t matter.”

Ian returned, holding out a gray T-shirt with ‘FBI’ emblazoned in big black letters. “Put this on first, then the vest.”

“Don’t try to be a hero,” Amita instructed, her voice trembling a little. “Just go with the plan, okay?”

Charlie had a small grin on his face. “I’m definitely no hero. I’ll be fine.”

Ian checked the vest before letting Charlie button up his shirt, making sure that it was strapped correctly and covered what it needed to cover. He took over the buttons himself, fastening them from top to bottom in a business-like manner. But the kiss he gave Charlie after he finished was anything but business-like. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” Charlie said simply.

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The commerce plaza was empty. It was empty because the FBI and LAPD SWAT had evacuated it long before Charlie had even gone inside the sketchy jewelry store to empty the safe deposit box. Through the glass doors of the shop, Colby could see the storeowner watching Charlie examine the contents of the box before making a phone call. He called it in. “I think we found Radovic’s guy on the inside. He’s making a call, so Radovic should show up soon.”

He knew that Charlie was deliberately taking his time in there, giving Radovic the opportunity to move in, but it still made him nervous. He saw Charlie exit the building, not even glancing across the street to where he knew Colby was. Colby couldn’t help but be a little impressed. The Charlie he’d met three years ago wouldn’t have been able to play it that cool.

Charlie trudged along the sidewalk, the streetlights providing the only illumination as he crossed the plaza. The diamonds were heavy in his coat pocket. Carbon, he thought. Just carbon, arranged in a way that was little different from a much less valuable, but much more useful substance, like graphite. And yet people would pay almost three million dollars for what he was carrying. He shook his head slightly – he couldn’t let his mind wander. Not now.

A figure stepped out from behind a shadowed wall. Charlie stopped, recognizing him instantly.

“I want my diamonds,” growled Radovic menacingly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Charlie shrugged, knowing that Radovic was taking in his rumpled appearance and subsequently lowering his guard. He also knew that Ian was perched on the roof of the building behind him, his sight trained on the Serbian and ready to pull the trigger if the man even twitched. Don’s team was scattered throughout the plaza, ready to move in. LAPD was at the perimeter. No matter what happened, Radovic was not getting away again.

“I saw you leaving the wholesaler.” Radovic’s tone was accusing, and he started to move closer. “I know you work for Alessi. You’re just an errand boy.” Radovic stopped in front of Charlie, pulling aside his trench coat to reveal a long, wicked-looking serrated blade. Charlie couldn’t keep his eyes off it. “Is it worth your life?”

Charlie swallowed, bringing his eyes back up to meet Radovic’s. “It’s worth this moment, right now. I wanted to see the face of the man who stabbed my brother.”

“Your brother?” Radovic was startled. “…the FBI agent?”

Charlie could see shadows closing in his peripheral vision. Radovic took an aggressive step forward and Charlie snatched the soft cloth out of his pocket, spilling the gems onto the pavement. 

Radovic snarled, going for his knife, but stopped abruptly when he saw dots of red light suddenly appear on his chest, and four FBI agents moving in fast. 

“You got about a second to keep that knee,” Nikki said levelly.

“Generally she’s a pretty good shot,” Colby said with a feral grin. “Although sometimes she’ll miss a little high.”

Radovic’s face twisted, but he put his hands up, allowing Colby to come in close and cuff them behind his back. Charlie watched. He felt a little bit of satisfaction. Mostly, he just felt tired.

“Thanks for letting me play decoy,” Charlie said as David approached him. 

“We wouldn’t have had a key or a location without you, Charlie. You earned it.”

“Is that the only reason?” Charlie asked.

“No.” David shook his head, and was surprised when Charlie gave him an awkward hug. He chuckled, then jerked his head at the small, shining rocks on the ground. “You gonna pick these things up, or what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Charlie huffed, getting gingerly to his knees and rubbing his face tiredly. He cast about, delicately picking up the diamonds. David crouched down to help.

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Alan had called Charlie’s cell phone while they were trapping Radovic. Don was awake, and Charlie felt a thousand times lighter, hearing it. He let the team know the good news, and despite all of the overtime and the fact that it was late on a Sunday evening, they all intended to come and visit Don at the hospital as soon as Radovic was processed. 

Ian, not really being an official part of the case and not having spread Radovic’s brains all over the pavement, had no paperwork. He was a little smug about it, and it meant that he and Charlie could leave for Cedars-Sinai ahead of the others.

They stopped at the gift shop, but Charlie was too eager to see Don to spend much time being selective, so they went with a gift basket topped with an enormous Hello Kitty balloon. There was one just like it already on the small side table in Don’s room.

“Hey, Chuck,” Don said with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Hey, Donnie,” Charlie said, almost shyly. “Sorry about the balloon –“

“Well, it’s not like there’s a lot of choice in the gift shop,” Robin smiled, holding Don’s hand.

“Ian, how’ve you been?”

“Been in Oregon, heard you got yourself laid up,” Ian said, grinning. “But it looks like you’ll walk it off soon enough.”

Don tilted his head and nodded. “That’s what they tell me.”

“Oh, look at that,” Alan chuckled, gesturing toward the hallway. Don’s team had just come around the nurses’ desk, and they were carrying –

“Oh no, another one.” Don looked as though he wanted to laugh, but was wisely refraining.

“I’ll just put this one over by the others, I guess,” said Colby, and the rest of the group chuckled, more in relief that Don was on the mend than anything else.

“So what’s the word?” David asked, slapping Don’s outstretched hand gently.

“They say I’m on my feet in a couple days,” Don answered. “Back on all your asses the week after that, so watch out.”

“But limited duty,” Alan interjected firmly, raising a finger.

“I have it in writing,” Robin assured him. “Notarized.”

“Well, as your relief supervisor, you know, I can’t wait to have you back on the job,” David said sincerely. 

“It’ll be good having you back, man.” Colby shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffing a toe on the clean hospital floor.

“Well,” Alan said, getting everyone’s attention. “Charlie, I’m sure you have some catching up to do with Don, so everyone – stale coffee in the cafeteria, on me.”

Ian glanced at Charlie, who squeezed his hand reassuringly, letting him know that it was all right for him to follow everyone out of the room.

Alan sidled up to the bed. “Oh Donnie, I made a brisket the night that, uh. Well, anyway, here’s some illicit brisket. Put it under your pillow.” He dropped a foil-wrapped packet on Don’s stomach, causing him to wince. Then he left the room, shepherding the FBI agents away.

“Don’t think I can go there,” Don murmured, looking up at Charlie in amusement as he gingerly shifted the meat off to the side. Charlie smiled back, but didn’t say anything.

“Heard you played decoy,” Don said. “Little bird named Colby texted me.”

“Can’t say I’d ever want to do that again.” Charlie looked down, his throat tightening. “When we were kids, Don, you had my back. You protected me. I’m sorry –“ His voice cracked, and he swallowed. “I’m sorry I didn’t do the same for you. I’m so sorry.”

Don’s smile dimmed, and he looked concerned. “Charlie, I never wanted this…this life for you. This isn’t your life.”

“I’m going to make it up to you,” Charlie promised. He reached out tentatively to squeeze Don’s hand, being careful of the IV. Don squeezed back. 

“Look, Charlie, you don’t have anything to make up, all right?” Don shifted slightly. “From what I can tell you were right about pretty much everything – none of us saw this coming. Okay? We got the guy – because of you – and it’s over and done with.” Don studied his brother, noting the signs of exhaustion in his face. “Hey, you better go get some rest, okay? Here, take the brisket. I’ll tell Dad that I ate it.”

Charlie gave a soft laugh and picked up the meat. 

“I’ll see you at the office, buddy,” Don said, as Charlie made his way to the door.

“Yeah.” Charlie looked at Don intently. “You will.”

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Ian glanced over at Charlie in the passenger seat as they drove to Pasadena, seeing his head droop periodically and then jerk back up, swaying in his seat as he fought to stay awake. “I don’t mind if you want to sleep in the car, babe.”

Charlie shook his head. It was over. Now was the time for sleep, he knew, but he was too afraid to let it happen. Ian’s hand found its way to his knee and stayed there, giving comforting squeezes as they got closer to the Craftsman.

When Ian finally pulled up in front of the house, he got out and retrieved his duffle bag and rifle case from the trunk before opening the passenger door for Charlie. He had to hook his hand underneath Charlie’s arm to help him out – the mathematician was coming up on, what, almost four days without sleep? It was a wonder he was still on his feet.

Ian regretted thinking that when they made it to the porch, because Charlie suddenly tipped sideways, and Ian had to drop his duffle bag completely in order to keep him from hitting the floor. “Hey! Charlie, babe, just a little further, okay? We’ll get inside and upstairs and you can sleep as much as you want. Amita told me that she’s covering your classes tomorrow, and Larry, too, when he gets back from that conference. Just stay with me, okay?”

Charlie mumbled in response, but made an effort to get his feet underneath him. Ian wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s waist, holding him up as he fumbled the key into the lock. They went straight upstairs, Ian taking most of his weight before they could shuffle into Charlie’s room. Charlie collapsed on the bed as soon as Ian let go of him.

_He just needs some sleep,_ Ian told himself as he pulled off Charlie’s shoes and socks, trying to be as gentle as possible while taking Charlie’s days-worn clothing off. He had Charlie stripped to the FBI T-shirt and – Ian had to set aside the thought of how sexy it was that Charlie was wearing his boxers, because now was _not_ the time. He pulled back the sheets, shifting them from under Charlie’s body so that he could cover him up. That done, Ian stripped down as well, turning off the light and joining Charlie in bed.

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A sharp cry had Ian jerking awake and groping for the bedside lamp. With the room now dimly lit, he rolled towards Charlie, who was twisted in the sheets, curled up tightly with his back to Ian. He was shaking.

Ian sighed, swiping a hand over his eyes before gently reaching out and touching Charlie’s shoulder. He’d learned how not to wake Charlie from a nightmare – grabbing or even hugging him just made the aftermath worse. What Charlie needed was a soft touch and time to wake up. And this was the third time tonight.

“Hey, babe,” Ian murmured, moving a little closer. “It’s just a nightmare, you can wake up. Shh…shh, it’s okay. Wake up, Charlie, it’ll be okay. Please, babe.”

Charlie rolled over with a small sob, tangling himself further in the sheets in his attempt to get closer to Ian. The sniper pulled him close, gently loosening the covers as he did so. 

“Make it stop,” Charlie panted, his eyes squeezed shut and tears running down his face. “Please make it stop.”

“I’m sorry, babe.” Ian kissed the top of his head, his chest tightening painfully. Charlie needed real sleep, not…whatever this was. “It wasn’t real, okay? Don’s fine, he’s going to be back to normal before you know it.”

“Because of me,” Charlie whispered. “He died because of me.”

“No, Charlie,” Ian said, quietly but firmly. “That wasn’t real. Don’s okay.” He leaned down, taking Charlie’s lips in a soft kiss, sliding his hand down below the hem of Charlie’s shirt and slipping it underneath to stroke his side.

Charlie let out a breath, wrapping an arm around Ian and pulling himself flush against Ian’s body. “Please.”

Ian breathed deeply and tugged the boxers down off of Charlie’s hips, shifting so that he could pull them all the way off. He did the same with his own, then came back up so that he could reach Charlie’s lips again. He pushed Charlie fully onto his back, covering his body with his own. He allowed a little of his body weight to rest on him, keeping Charlie in place with his elbows, hoping to make his boyfriend feel safe. Protected.

Charlie moaned in response, opening his mouth in invitation to deepen the kiss. Ian took advantage of it, licking inside Charlie’s mouth as he pressed his hips down. Charlie was only half-hard, which Ian attributed to exhaustion and the lingering grief he was feeling from the nightmare. Ian kept going, trusting Charlie to let him know if he went too far.

He used his knees to nudge Charlie’s legs apart and kept grinding against him, letting his mouth wander down under Charlie’s jaw, down his neck. He didn’t usually leave marks on purpose – not where people generally saw them, anyway – but this time he felt compelled to. Right where Charlie’s collarbone angled up, Ian bit down and sucked, easily raising a bruise. He soothed the area with his tongue at Charlie’s slight hiss, but he felt him buck up underneath him, seeking to increase the friction.

Ian smiled, reaching over to the nightstand to get the lube and a condom. He rolled his hips as he raised himself up high enough to have his hands free, slicking up his fingers. He reached down between them, slipping one finger inside Charlie and swallowing his moan with a kiss. He worked him open slowly and gently, in no hurry, since it looked as though neither he nor Charlie were going to get any real sleep tonight. 

Charlie was fully hard by the time Ian had three fingers inside him, and he was pushing back, silently asking for more. Ian nuzzled his neck, leaving another mark just under Charlie’s jaw, which would be a lot more visible once Charlie shaved. He withdrew his fingers and Charlie whimpered, and Ian soothed him with another kiss. He tore the condom open with his teeth, tossing the wrapper to the floor and rolling it on with one hand. Charlie gave a low moan when Ian entered him, pushing himself onto Ian’s cock as much as he could with Ian’s weight pressing him into the bed.

Ian started moving, sleepily thrusting into Charlie while exploring his neck with his mouth, feeling Charlie’s hands sliding up from the small of his back to his shoulder blades, his blunt nails digging into the skin with a slight sting. 

“More,” Charlie breathed. “Please, more.”

With a chuckle, Ian snapped his hips forward, causing Charlie to gasp and dig his nails even harder into Ian’s back. It was only fair – Ian had marked him twice already. He continued at a faster, harder rhythm, feeling himself start to get close. He worked a hand in between their bodies, grasping Charlie’s cock to start stroking it in time with his thrusts, until Charlie inhaled sharply and came, covering Ian’s hand with thick white spurts. Ian gripped Charlie’s shoulder for leverage and thrust harder, chasing his own release and then collapsing with a groan.

They lay there like that for a few minutes, Ian’s spent cock softening slowly while still buried deep, until Ian felt there was a real risk of him falling asleep right on top of Charlie. He withdrew slowly and Charlie whimpered again, but he didn’t stop him. Instead, the mathematician pulled the FBI shirt off over his head, wiping his stomach and then offering it to Ian for him to clean himself up.

Ian heard Charlie’s breathing slow, becoming deep and regular, and smiled, twisting to turn off the lamp.

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Alan was sipping coffee at the dining room table when Ian padded downstairs. Charlie was still asleep, thank god, and hadn’t woken again during the night. Ian intended to leave him to it for as long as he’d sleep. 

“Morning,” Ian nodded briefly to Alan and made his way into the kitchen to pour himself some coffee. He took his time, letting it cool in the cup for a bit before adding a little sugar, stirring for longer than was strictly necessary while he tried to figure out what to say to Alan. Because he had to say something.

The Eppes patriarch looked tired, and Ian could understand that. It had been a rough few days for everyone. Ian pushed open the door and sat at the table, leaving an empty chair between them. “Don still doing okay?”

Alan nodded. “Robin has been…she’s been amazing through this whole thing. She stayed with him last night, insisted that I go home for some real rest. Sleeping in a hospital chair doesn’t really count.”

“Still beats not sleeping at all,” Ian said mildly, and waited for a response. Alan didn’t say anything.

Ian tried a different, more direct tack. If Alan wasn’t going to give him an opening, then he’d make one. “Charlie blames himself for what happened to Don.” He sipped his coffee. “He said you do, too.”

“I never said that,” Alan said defensively, raising a finger.

“Then what did you say?” Ian’s tone was chilly.

Alan put a hand to his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t remember specifically, ah, something about…something about priorities. You know, there was a lot going on, Don was still on the ventilator. Charlie understands that, I’m sure he didn’t take that literally –“

“Have you _met_ Charlie?” _Whoops._ Ian shrugged, mentally. It was too late to rein in the sarcasm now. “You might not remember, but I promise you that he does. That kind of stuff, especially coming from someone he respects and cares about – it gets embedded in that big brain of his. He doesn’t just forget it.”

“My son is in the hospital –“ Alan began angrily, but Ian cut him off.

“You have two sons. Now, I’ve got to admit that I’m no expert on the way families are supposed to work, but I had the impression that it’s about being there for each other during the hard times.”

“Donnie needed me,” snapped Alan. “I figured that Charlie could take care of himself for a change, he is an adult.”

Ian glared at the older man, trying to keep his temper in check. All he could think about were the times last night that Charlie had woken with panicked, devastated tears. He didn’t say anything about that, however. Charlie didn’t want anyone to know he still had nightmares, he was embarrassed by them, as though it were something he should have grown out of rather than an unfortunate wiring of his brain. “He put his life on the line to get the guy who stabbed Don. He’d still be out there if it weren’t for Charlie.”

Alan huffed. “This year…some things have been made very clear to me about how we raised the boys, what kind of impact that had. Charlie needed so much attention, he and his mother lived separately from us for the years at Princeton… Looking back, I can see how much Donnie _didn’t_ get, and I…he needed me. I neglected him, Margaret and I both did. I wasn’t going to let that happen again.”

Ian shrugged. “All right, there’s history. But I’m talking about now. Honestly, I don’t care what you really think about who’s to blame for this, although I can give you an opinion as someone with a lot of field experience, if you want to hear it. All I care about is that you keep it to yourself. Charlie’s a genius, but he’s still only human. He’s not a god, or a computer. And he’s not a fucking FBI agent. If there’s any part of you that actually does blame him for Don getting himself stabbed, fine. Just don’t. Say it. Again.” He met Alan’s gaze steadily, until the older man nodded and looked away.

“So,” Alan began tentatively. “Charlie is still sleeping?”

“Yeah,” Ian nodded. “Hopefully for a few more hours, at least.”

“Good, I – that’s good.”

“He’ll probably be pretty hungry when he wakes up, too,” Ian said, an offering. He’d noticed that Alan tended to default to food as a way to heal rifts. Or really, heal anything, if Alan’s gift of brisket to Don at the hospital was anything to go by.

“Right,” Alan said, brightening. “I should make a run to the grocery store, I doubt we have anything edible in the house.”

Ian, knowing how much Alan enjoyed cooking, snorted to himself and doubted that very much. Alan would probably faint if he saw the sparse pantry in Ian’s apartment. 

Making his way back upstairs to the sound of Alan’s car pulling out of the driveway, Ian quietly opened the door to Charlie’s room. The mathematician was still sound asleep, snoring softly, one leg sticking out of the covers and off the side of the bed. Coffee or no, Ian slid back under the sheets, taking care not to jostle the bed too much. He wrapped an arm around Charlie and sighed, closing his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set around S5E23, “Angels and Devils.”

Charlie wasn’t exactly eavesdropping – he just happened to be in the kitchen, and anyway he could hardly hear the quiet conversation happening between Don and Robin on the back porch. It wasn’t about anything consequential – just two people talking about their week and enjoying a beer and a glass of white wine, respectively. It just…it made Charlie smile, hearing it. They seemed happy. And they were here at the house. Don had been spending a lot of time at the house since – Charlie swallowed hard at the thought – since he got out of the hospital, even though he was medically cleared and back on full duty at the FBI. He’d changed a little, after being injured so badly. Don used to walk around like he was the only one in the world keeping everything from collapsing. The pressure he’d put himself under was obvious, and Charlie privately thought that was a big factor in why Don hadn’t had many long-term relationships. Their father thought so, too, only not so privately.

But now Don was…he was so much lighter. Not oblivious to the bad stuff – with his job there was no escaping it, it was just more like he accepted that he couldn’t fix everything, and had adjusted his expectations accordingly. He wasn’t relaxed about his work, but generally he was showing a lot more trust in his team and his colleagues from other agencies. 

The conversation out on the porch had stopped, and a quick glance told Charlie that Don and Robin were now occupying the same chair, having found something to do that was better than talking. He quietly left the kitchen so as not to be a creep, and pulled out his phone to text Ian. He hadn’t heard from his boyfriend in a couple of days.

_How’s the hunt going?_

He got a reply back within minutes. _Strangely enough, it’s led me to Barstow. Have a hunch I’ll be heading to L.A. soon, depends on what I find out from this lead._

Charlie smiled. If Ian did come to L.A., he’d be working but at least he’d also be…home. He texted back. _Keep me posted. I’ll keep the bed warm for you._

This time the reply came quickly. _Fuck, Professor, I’m on the job. You want to distract me you’re going to have to send photos._

_No promises. Be careful._ Charlie grinned and put his phone back in his pocket.

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It was getting late by the time Charlie finished up grading the mid-terms for his mathematical modeling class, and his attention wavered between the papers on his desk and his earlier conversation with Don. His brother had stopped by to see the new office fully put together, with everything unpacked. Charlie didn’t really feel like it belonged to him yet – it was so different than the cozy and cluttered office he’d occupied before. There wasn’t any clutter in this office – not yet, anyway – and no blackboards built into the walls. All Charlie had to work on were the clear plexiglass boards that Millie had deemed more in keeping with the style of this new office, and while they were…acceptable, Charlie knew he preferred the feeling of chalk against blackboard, preferred the smell of calcium carbonate to that of the markers. Blackboards were easier to clean, too. 

Don had given him some advice when he’d expressed his doubts about whether or not he belonged here. It didn’t help that the beginning of his time in this office had coincided with some of the worst days of Charlie’s life. But in keeping with the changes he’d seen in his brother since then, Don had…well, basically given him permission to do what he chose. To really live life the way he wanted, rather than try to live up to the idea of some kind of destiny. Charlie had to think about this. His entire life had been shaped around the assumption that he would rise in academia to do great things, to contribute revolutionary ideas to the field. That was a lot to live up to, and it all seemed fully outside of the realm of the practical application he’d become accustomed to in working with the FBI, but he couldn’t discount the sacrifices that everyone in his family had made to put him right where he was now. Who was he to throw that away?

Charlie wondered how much of his ambivalence was real and how much of it was due to the anxiety he always felt about big changes. His reverie was interrupted by Amita, who knocked softly on the door before coming in. 

“Hey, Charlie. Have you eaten yet?”

“No, not yet.” Charlie’s stomach rumbled at the question, now that he wasn’t elbow deep in grading and too preoccupied to notice. 

“Great,” Amita smiled. “I was just on my way out to grab dinner –“ She glanced at her phone and raised her eyebrows. “A very _late_ dinner, and thought I’d invite you to join me.”

“Sure, sounds good.” Charlie grabbed his keys and made sure that his wallet was in his pocket, deciding to leave his satchel in the office since he still had some work left to do. He and Amita made their way through the open-air hallways of the math and science complex, heading toward the parking lot and discussing the recent combinatorics seminar that CalSci had hosted. Amita had done an amazing job, almost singlehandedly organizing the whole thing. It had been a standout event in the field and garnered local publicity, too – the L.A. Times had even sent a representative to cover it, and had interviewed Amita as part of the story. Charlie was pleased that she was getting the recognition – she really deserved it.

The two professors were getting close to Amita’s parking space when Charlie heard footsteps – the sound of…two?...people coming up quickly behind them. He started to turn to see what was happening, and felt someone grab a fistful of his hair and yank his head back. And then his head exploded in agony and he dropped, not even feeling the impact as he hit the ground. He heard, as if from a distance, Amita screaming, struggling and yelling his name, frantically calling for help. He couldn’t understand why he was unable to get his body to respond – Amita needed him, there were people taking her away and she _needed his help._ But he only managed to shift onto his side, propping himself up with one shaky arm before he became aware of headlights coming toward him – and they were coming fast.

He had enough presence of mind to roll to the sidewalk, and it saved his life, because the Jeep squealed past him right over where he’d been only seconds before. _License plate,_ he thought, and he strained to decipher any part of the plate on the rear of the vehicle before it turned a corner at speed and disappeared. 

Charlie fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket and called Don. He didn’t even think about it – calling 911 hadn’t even crossed his mind. Don would help, he would know what to do. The phone rang twice.

“Hey, buddy.” Charlie heard Don’s voice, tinny on the small phone speaker.

“B-blue Jeep, tinted windows,” he stammered, trying to fight the darkness that was creeping around the edges of his vision. “The license plate had an A33.” That alphanumeric combination – that had stuck in his mind, even with everything being so blurry around the edges. A33 was one of the codes that was classified as an English Opening move in chess. He’d used it plenty of times to win against his father.

A tense pause. “Where are you?”

“CalSci parking lot. They took Amita…” Charlie was struggling to stay awake.

“What?!” Don’s voice was sharp with worry. “Are you safe?”

“Blue Jeep…tinted windows…” Charlie mumbled, before he passed out.

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Ian was heading west on the I-10 when his cell rang. He answered it without glancing at the screen, keeping his eyes on the road. “Edgerton.”

“Ian, it’s Don. Where are you?”

“About…” Ian checked a mile marker that sped past. “Thirty miles outside of the city, I had a lead in Barstow that seems like it’s going to play out in L.A.”

“Good.” Don’s voice had a note of relief. “Come straight to the office, will you? Charlie was attacked tonight, and –“

“What happened?” Ian demanded, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel.

“Amita was kidnapped from CalSci, and Charlie was with her when it happened. They got him good, hit him in the head with the butt of a gun and took off. He’s been patched up, he’s at the office. I think we’re going to need your help on this one.”

Ian ground his teeth. “I’ll do what I can, Eppes, but I’m already on a hunt. Let’s take a look at this kidnapping, see what we can untangle. I’ll pass a briefing of the situation up the chain, maybe bring in reinforcements if we need them.”

“Okay. See you soon.” Don hung up.

Ian pressed the gas pedal down a little harder, increasing his speed. It was late enough that there shouldn’t be too much traffic, but he wanted to reach the FBI office building as soon as possible. He was worried that Charlie hadn’t called him, worried about how badly he’d been hurt – though he figured that Don wouldn’t have him at the office if he needed serious medical attention. He considered calling Charlie himself, but he was almost to the city.

He got to the office later than he would have liked, boxed in with what seemed like everyone else in L.A., having to wait for an accident to be cleared. By the time he made it to the parking garage he was in a foul mood, trying to think about his own case, Amita’s case, and Charlie all at the same time and feeling pulled in a dozen different directions.

Ian stabbed at the elevator button, as if using force would cause it to rise up to the bullpen any faster. He spotted Charlie huddled in the war room with Larry and Alan on either side of him, and strode forward as if he were going to walk right over anyone who got in his way. 

“Charlie!” 

The mathematician looked up. His eyes were red and watery, and there was a decently-sized knot forming on his forehead, a few steristrips holding a small gash closed. Ian cradled his face gently, tilting it to the side and smoothing curly hair back so that he could examine the wound more closely. There was a small patch of blood on his shirt collar – it must have bled a lot before it was cleaned up. 

“Charlie…how are you feeling?” He hardly noticed Larry and Alan quietly leaving the room to give them some privacy.

“Useless,” Charlie whispered. “I’m feeling useless, I – I can’t _think,_ I don’t know what to do –“

“Hey,” Ian interrupted him, his voice firm. “You are _not_ useless, babe. It’s okay. We’re on this.”

Charlie hiccupped and wrapped his arms around Ian. “I couldn’t stop them. Amita, she needed me and I couldn’t stop them, they surprised us both.”

Ian shifted so that he was sitting in the chair next to Charlie instead of crouching in front of him, keeping a protective arm around his shoulders. Charlie leaned into him gingerly, resting his head on Ian’s shoulder. “And then – then we caught up to the Jeep, the Jeep they put her in. The pursuit had them cornered in a parking garage and they drove into another car, and…and it just exploded. Acetone peroxide.”

“What? Amita –“ Ian’s hand tightened on Charlie’s shoulder.

“The coroner says that she wasn’t in the Jeep,” Charlie said dully. “Preliminary examination of the other women’s bodies ruled her out pretty quickly, they didn’t even have to wait on DNA.”

“That’s good, Charlie, that means that she’s out there and all we have to do is find her.” Ian was about to say more, but was interrupted by his cell phone. He grunted in irritation and answered it, keeping his arm around his boyfriend.

“Edgerton.”

“Agent Edgerton, this is Terra Jensen with CJIS, I have it in our records that you wanted to be notified if we received any AFIS matches or requests on an Irma Rydell.” A crisp female voice came over the phone.

“That’s right,” Ian confirmed.

“Excellent, I’m calling to inform you that we just received a fingerprint match request which hit on the fingerprints that were on file for Rydell. The request was regarding a Jane Doe in the Los Angeles FBI coroner’s office.”

“Excuse me? Could you repeat that?” Ian’s grip tightened on the phone.

“I said that the request which matched the prints on file for Rydell came from the Los Angeles FBI coroner, an attempt to ID a Jane Doe.” The CJIS tech’s voice was raised, as if she thought he might not have heard her.

“Okay, thanks,” Ian said, a chill running down his spine. “I appreciate the info.” He hung up.

_Fuck._ If Amita had gotten mixed up with the likes of Duryea…

“Ian,” Don said curtly as he came into the war room. “Let me bring you up to speed –“

“Actually, I think I need to bring _you_ up to speed.” The sniper interrupted him. “It looks like we’re working the same case now.”

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The security at CalSci was an absolute joke. There was no campus police department, only security officers who were also responsible for parking enforcement. Granted, the campus generally had a pretty small number of crimes, but with Amita’s kidnapping and Charlie’s assault Ian was not prepared to be reasonable about this. Especially since he’d found sign of Duryea squatting outside of Amita’s office window. He’d clearly been watching her for at least three days before sending his ‘tribe’ to take her. Ian knew that it was him. The same weird pieces of carved wood had been scattered around Duryea’s vantage point by the tree that Ian had found at the last three crime scenes attributed to Duryea and his ‘tribe,’ including the robbery and murder in Montana. 

Colby and David were scanning the ground nearby, Colby grumbling about wasting time instead of running around kicking in doors.

“You planning on just kicking doors indiscriminately, Granger? How are you going to make sure you’re kicking in the right ones?” Ian asked, putting on gloves and bagging the carved pieces for the lab. Not that it was likely the lab would be able to tell him anything he didn’t already know.

“Well, under normal circumstances I’d ask Charlie,” Colby responded, glancing at Ian.

Ian scowled and didn’t say anything. Aside from dealing with a head injury, Charlie was struggling with some kind of mental block – which Ian wasn’t convinced was unrelated. But he knew that the mathematician would never leave the office, not while Amita was still in the clutches of some psycho with half-assed revolutionary ideas. He straightened abruptly.

“We’re likely not going to find anything more on the grounds. I’m going to go take a look at the parking lot.” Ian shoved the evidence bag into Colby’s chest and held it there until the other agent took hold of it. “Take this back to the office. Try…try showing it to Charlie, maybe he can make some kind of sense out of it. Duryea scored in the genius-level IQ threshold, though it seems like the only thing he’s a genius at is talking vulnerable women into committing crimes for him. I don’t know. Maybe there’s something there.”

The sniper made his way to the parking lot, his long stride eating up the distance quickly. He’d reviewed the camera footage with the chief of security earlier, but it hadn’t been particularly helpful. Rydell and Forman – a fucking high school student – had been wearing bandanas and hats pulled low over their faces, and anyway both they and the Jeep were burned to a crisp and already in FBI custody. The only thing that the footage showed was which direction they’d taken Amita in the Jeep, and Ian could tell that much from the tire marks.

The tire marks.

Ian stopped, considering for a moment, then changed direction. He crouched down by the fresh black rubber marks on the paving stone section of the parking lot exit, fixing the color and scrape pattern in his mind. He even got down close enough to take a good long sniff at the tracks, on the off-chance that there was any distinctive odor associated with them. There wasn’t, really, but that was all right. 

Why _couldn’t_ he track a vehicle through the streets of L.A.? There were only – what, six million registered vehicles in the city? Besides, he had the information from the previous night’s pursuit. He knew where the Jeep started and where it ended up, and he knew that they would have had to stop briefly to get Amita out of the vehicle. All he had to do was connect the dots.

Piece of cake.

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Charlie jerked awake and clutched at his head, squeezing his eyes back shut at the pain. He couldn’t believe he’d dozed off in the break room – what kind of a friend was he, falling asleep when Amita was counting on them – on him – to help her? He got up and pulled open the last drawer on the right, which is where the first aid kit was kept. He found a packet of ibuprofen and fumbled trying to get it open, then swallowed the pills with some water. 

“Hey, Charlie, you got a minute?” Colby poked his head inside the break room.

“Of course,” Charlie said, trying to straighten up. He took the evidence bag that Colby was offering, noting the strangely-notched pieces of wood it contained. Something in his mind sparked, but when he tried to follow that line of thought, it seemed to just fade away. 

“Edgerton says that he’s been leaving these at the crime scenes,” Colby said, gently herding Charlie back to a chair. The math professor wasn’t looking so good.

“Okay. Um.” Charlie felt the texture of the carvings through the plastic bag, counted the number pieces and the number of notches on each piece. Again, he almost had something. What were these reminding him of? “It could be some kind of notch code, like with keys or film… They look familiar.”

Colby nodded, waiting for a minute to see if Charlie had anything else, but Charlie’s head drooped over the table. “Hey, man, it’s all right. Just, uh, let me know if you find anything, okay?” Colby patted his shoulder and turned back towards the bullpen. Alan passed him on his way out.

Charlie glanced up briefly at his father. “How many…how many cases have I worked on? How many fucking algorithms have I pulled out of thin air because they were needed?” Charlie dropped the evidence bag on the table. “I’ve got nothing.”

Alan frowned, stirring some sugar into a cup of coffee and trying to think about what he could say. The life experience of his youngest son had been so far away from his own, for so long now – he couldn’t help feeling some shame that he couldn’t seem to do what he was supposed to do as a father, couldn’t offer any helpful advice. Margaret would have known what to say to Charlie. She’d always known.

Charlie’s cell phone rang, and he rushed to answer it. “Hello?” After listening for a few seconds, his posture deflated. “No, no, I haven’t used my credit card today. Well, then someone else must have –“

This was something Alan could do. “Here, let me take that,” he said, and Charlie gratefully handed him the phone.

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Ian was sweating a little by the time he’d made his best guess at the alley the Jeep had likely stopped in during the pursuit, but it was true what they said about a dry heat. Even this close to the ocean, there wasn’t enough humidity to keep the sweat from evaporating almost immediately. The downside to that was getting dehydrated more quickly, and Ian made a mental note to grab some water as soon as he was done here. 

He looked around the narrow alleyway, noting the slightly curved mark at the street entrance and the fact that the alley was only wide enough to allow one vehicle at a time to move through it. If the Jeep had stopped here, another car would have been waiting somewhere – possibly behind those wide double doors. This had all been carefully planned. The two women, Rydell and Forman, they’d been sacrificed to cover Duryea’s tracks. It was the same with the women he’d arrested and brought in alive, in Montana, and Oklahoma – they were all expendable. Trapped in a charismatic web of pseudo-philosophical bullshit and then discarded when necessary. Or even when it wasn’t necessary. Ian had no doubt that Duryea would dispose of Amita as soon as he didn’t need her.

There wasn’t any obvious sign visible here at ground level, but Ian speculatively lifted his gaze toward the fire escape on the side of one of the buildings. A different vantage might be revealing. He jumped, gripping the bottom rung of the escape ladder and easily hauling himself up. He climbed up to the second landing and looked back down – and was surprised to see a car pulling in to the alleyway. Ian waited quietly – this probably wasn’t Duryea or any of his tribe. The vehicle looked government to him, but it was always best to be sure.

Nikki, Liz, and Larry clambered out of the shiny black car, and Larry unrolled a large map onto the hood, using his notebook to keep it from curling back up while the three of them examined it. 

“Okay,” Nikki sounded like she was trying to be patient. “This is our fifth stop.”

“All right, the angel and devils problem will only yield possible nodes in places where the movement and timing of the kidnappers allows that Amita might have been taken from that first vehicle.” Larry tapped the map a couple of times.

“This is the best possibility yet,” Liz pointed out. “Isolated, no streetlights – lots of places they could be hiding her.”

“Or,” Ian said, raising his voice. “Places where they had a second car waiting.” He smirked as the two FBI agents and the physicist looked up at him in surprise. 

“Do you always gotta make an appearance like that?” Nikki snapped, annoyed.

“People don’t seem to notice me until I start talking.” Ian shrugged. 

“So I’m assuming your own process brought you to the same spot?” Larry asked.

“Started tracking the Jeep from the CalSci parking lot, then backtracked to follow the tire marks from the crash site.”

“Through downtown L.A.?” Nikki sounded impressed in spite of herself.

Ian smirked again. “Tires on asphalt, footprints in the grass. Same principle.” Let them think it was that easy. “They were taking a lot of hard corners, which made it considerably easier. Come around back, I’ll open the door to this place – I think it’s where they were keeping the second car.” He swept his gaze over the window accessible from the landing, then flicked out his knife and inserted it between the panes, easily pushing the lock open. He lifted the lower pane and ducked inside, glad that he hadn’t had to break anything. It’s not that he would have cared about the property damage – the building looked completely deserted. But he never liked climbing through broken glass.

The old building’s interior was dark and dingy, and full of disturbing piles of junk. There were dozens of mannequin body parts – arms, legs, heads. But there weren’t any torsos to be seen. There was the old-fashioned set of garage doors on the ground level, but a space had been cleared, large enough for a four-door vehicle to have been concealed. There was radiator fluid pooled on the ground to prove it.

“These tracks would not be as easy to follow.” Ian said regretfully. “They’d made the switch and the FBI and LAPD were in pursuit of the blue Jeep. They wouldn’t have had to rush anywhere.”

There was a chemical smell in the air as well, and Liz wrinkled her nose. “Acetone peroxide.”

Ian nodded. “I called this place in, it’s been in Chapter 11 for the last six months. No one would have known they were here.”

“I’m thinking that kidnapping Professor Ramanujan was the last step in whatever they were doing,” Nikki said uneasily, her gaze flitting around the all too human-looking bits and pieces.

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“I’d like to meet the guy who was using your credit card number,” Alan grumbled as he made his way back into the break room. “I mean, if you’re going to steal, why steal junk?”

“What?” Charlie asked tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah, a clock and a teapot. And who in Los Angeles is going to need a snowboard? Two hundred and seventy-five dollars for a snow globe?” Alan held up the piece of notebook paper he’d used to jot down all of the fraudulent charges the credit card representative had reported to him.

Charlie stared at him, his eyes widening, then snatched the paper out of his father’s hand and bolted from the room.

“Don!” Charlie found his brother in one of the smaller A/V rooms, watching footage of old prison interviews of Duryea. “Don, she’s alive, she’s communicating!”

Don jumped. “What are you talking about, Charlie?”

“A mantle clock, a brass tea set, a snowboard, a snow globe – those are all things that Amita has in her office! I got the clock for her, a birthday present when we were dating. Her parents got her the tea set as a graduation gift! She bought that snowboard for her trip to Colorado and the snow globe as a souvenir!”

Don’s forehead was wrinkled in confusion. “Okay, but I don’t understand –“

“I don’t know how exactly she’s doing this, but she’s talking to me, Don. These things, these are all in her office. She wants us to watch her office!” Charlie gulped, out of breath and slightly dizzy. He leaned forward, propping himself up with his hands on his knees.

“Whoa, buddy, sit down, okay? I’ll get a surveillance team on it right away, just take a seat, please.” Don got up, pushing Charlie down into the vacant chair. “Take it easy, Chuck.”

“Not until we find Amita.” Charlie started to shake his head, and then grimaced.

Don grit his teeth in frustration at the stubbornness of younger brothers, and stepped out of the room to arrange for surveillance at CalSci. He’d get David and Colby on it, since Liz and Nikki were processing the location that Larry – well, Larry and Ian – had found. 

Alan stopped by his cubicle, hovering until he finished making his calls. “Are we getting somewhere?”

Don closed his eyes and resolutely bit back an instinctive response, wondering how in the world he’d ended up with his whole family working on this case. “It’s looking better. Charlie thinks that those credit card charges came from Amita.”

“Good, good.” The older man shifted uncomfortably. “So, ah, about earlier, that talk that you and I had…”

“Nothing’s happened with that, Dad, believe me you’ll be the first to know if it does. But right now I’ve got to focus on this, we’ve got to get Amita back safely, okay?”

“Right,” Alan said quickly, looking slightly guilty. “I’ll – I’ll go check on Charlie.”

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Ian left Liz and Nikki at the old brick warehouse to finish processing the scene, driving back to the office with Larry in tow. The physicist was quiet at first, tapping the rolled-up map thoughtfully against his pursed lips before he finally spoke.

“Agent Edg – Ian, what do you believe are the chances that we’re going to recover Amita alive?”

_Fuck. _This was the kind of question Ian hated trying to answer.

“Better if we find her quickly. But Duryea has a habit of using and disposing of women, and I think it’s clear that he wants her for something very specific. He didn’t even try to recruit her, the way he did the other members of his ‘tribe.’ She’d never have gone with him willingly.” Ian spared a glance at Larry, seeing his slumped posture. “We’re getting closer.”

“But we could get closer still if Charles were in a position to better assist us.”

“Charlie was lucky,” Ian said sharply. If Duryea had sent Dallas to kidnap Amita – or worse, come himself – Ian had no doubt that Charlie would be dead right now, and _that_ thought was a cold, empty pit in his gut. “And we would be hours, maybe days behind if it weren’t for him. Larry, I’ve been chasing this guy for months, the trail always goes cold almost immediately. The fact that we have the leads that we do is because Charlie was able to give us a good start.”

“You’re right, of course,” Larry sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It’s just the thought of…she’s in such a vulnerable position, I’m just extremely…concerned.”

Ian felt his phone start to vibrate on his hip, and he answered it quickly. “Edgerton.”

“It’s Don. Ian, David and Colby just brought in a member of Duryea’s tribe, a…uh, Piper St. John. They caught her and Dallas trying to take Amita’s laptop out of her office at CalSci, they were staking it out based on a tip from Charlie. Anything you can tell me about this girl?”

Pulse quickening at the thought of a major break in the case, Ian rapidly ran through the information in his head. “Nothing specific, except that she’s one of the younger ones. I don’t know what it is, but Duryea is able to get really deep into their heads, the ones in their teens, they’re the true believers. It was the same with Forman, her parents in Barstow described it as something like a full religious conversion. St. John thinks of Duryea like a prophet. You want me to take a crack at her? Larry and I are just a few minutes out.”

“No.” Don’s voice was firm. “She’s fixated on Colby right now, I want to see how this goes first. Let me know if you remember anything else when you get in.”

“Will do.” Ian hung up. 

“News?” Larry asked, eyebrows raised.

The sniper met his inquiring expression with a feral grin. “They’ve got a suspect in interrogation, one of Duryea’s ‘tribe’ members.”

“Excellent,” Larry gave a small, relieved smile.

Ian was in a hurry to get to the interview observation room when they reached the FBI office building, but was distracted by the sight of Charlie leaning against the wall in the corner of the bullpen, his cell phone up to his ear and a miserable expression on his face. Ian frowned, drawing closer.

“Mr. Ramanujan, I completely understand your –“ Charlie cut himself off, listening. “No, sir, that wasn’t the – no, I don’t know, only that we’re doing everything –“ Charlie’s voice was raspy and hoarse, the way it tended to get when he was really upset. 

“Charles?” Larry’s voice was quiet. Charlie looked at him, shrugging his shoulders and raising his free hand in a gesture of helplessness. Ian could easily hear the yelling coming from his phone, sounding like it was half English and half Hindi. 

“Charles.” Larry said firmly, holding his hand out. Charlie nearly dropped the phone as he handed it over, a look of intense relief relaxing his features. “Mr. Ramanujan,” Larry picked up the conversation, taking a few steps away.

“What’s that all about?” Ian asked, putting his arm around the mathematician.

“Amita’s father – some kind of mistake was made, maybe on the LAPD side, I don’t know, but Amita’s parents were notified that she was dead, just after the Jeep exploded in the parking garage, and he called me and I told them that she isn’t, and they’re devastated and angry – can you blame them? They thought their daughter was dead for hours and now I can’t even tell them that she’s safe, or if she’s going to be.” Charlie stopped rambling, his shoulders slumped. “They’re not even on this continent, they’re trying to figure out how to get here quickly, and, well, Amita’s father never really liked me anyway.”

“Jesus.” Ian slipped into the nearest cubicle, not caring whose it was, and retrieved a pen and a stack of sticky notes from the desk. He quickly scribbled something on the pad and handed it to Larry, who read it and nodded gratefully.

“What was that?” Charlie asked. He sounded exhausted. 

“The number for the FBI Victim Services Division and the case number. We’ve got specialists trained for this, Charlie, Amita’s parents can get the assistance they need from them.”

“At least someone can be helpful,” Charlie’s tone was bitter. “I’m not contributing anything to this case, and it’s my –“

“It’s _not.”_ Ian’s voice was louder than he meant it to be, but he had to stop this before it went any further. “This is not your fault, Charlie, and what do you mean you haven’t contributed anything? We’ve got a suspect in custody because of you.”

“Because of Amita,” Charlie corrected. “She’s the one who reached out, putting those charges on my credit card bill, she –“

“And who figured out what that meant?” Ian countered, and Charlie fell silent. “Babe, don’t let yourself get all twisted into knots about this, okay? You get so far inside your own head under pressure like this that your mind just can’t deal with it, and you check out. Right? But come on, did you even have to do the math to understand what Amita was trying to tell you?”

“No…”

“So how did you know, Charlie?”

“It – I, um – I just knew, when Dad told me what the charges were.” Charlie’s brow was furrowed.

“You went with your instincts,” Ian said. “I know that’s not how you like to do your voodoo thing, babe. I know that’s not comfortable for you. But your gut was right, it’s gotten us this far. I trust it to lead us all the way.”

Charlie looked up at him, and Ian could see the resolve firming in his expression. “Okay.” He took a breath. “Okay. I can do that.”

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“She needs me to help her fake an attack on the Farmer’s American Credit system,” Charlie said. “That IP address that she hid in those charges – she’s letting us watch what she’s doing in real time.”

“Okay, but this can’t be about credit cards, you know, it’s not who this guy is.” Don frowned, picking up a remote and bringing up one of Duryea’s interviews on the big screen in the war room.

“Well, this company holds about fifteen percent of the nation’s credit card debt, if one could get in –“

Larry burst into room. “It is a burr.” He picked up the evidence bag holding the carved wooden pieces that Ian had picked up at CalSci, and tore it open.

“Larry, that’s, uh, evidence.” David said resignedly, watching Larry spread the pieces out on the table.

“It’s also a puzzle. Six-piece puzzles date back to the 1800s.” Larry picked up two pieces and held them crossed in his hand, starting to slip the other pieces through the notches to hook them together. “And when assembled, take the form of a seed burr.” The physicist held up an object that almost looked like a star. “Each burr is a key piece. You pull one out, the entire thing falls apart.” Larry dislodged a piece from where it notched with the others, and all of them clattered back onto the table.

Charlie was looking at them with wide eyes. “Four hundred and fifty-two billion dollars in credit card debt, even a day or two offline, that would send tremors throughout the economy.”

Don turned to the screen, hitting a button to let the interview continue playing. Duryea’s deep, strangely enthralling voice went on, talking about ‘the construct’ and weak links. Ian rolled his eyes – he’d heard it before, but Don turned on his heel, grabbing the reassembled puzzle out of Larry’s hands and making his way purposefully into the interview room where Colby was still interrogating St. John.

“Have you –“ Charlie cleared his throat, trying to get David’s attention. “Have you heard from the technicians, have they been able to trace Amita’s private IP address?”

“They’re trying to follow it back to a specific server, Charlie, but it could be hours. And wherever Duryea and Amita are, if they’re stealing a wifi signal then we may not get it narrowed down closer than a single neighborhood.”

“David, if I can’t help Amita make it look like she’s making a successful attack on this company’s system, then –“ Charlie stopped, unable to bring himself to finish that thought out loud. 

“We’ve got to be in position before you do that, Professor,” Ian said. “It looks like this is the reason Duryea had Amita kidnapped, and if we make it look like she’s done it before we’re ready to get her out of there, then that won’t do her any good, either.”

They heard a muffled scream of rage, even from the war room, and looked through the glass walls at the interview room. Colby was keeping his distance, while Don was crowding St. John’s space. The burr was again scattered into pieces on the table in front of her cuffed hands. She stood, leaning in close to Don and looking as though she were about to spit in his face.

A few minutes later, Don was out of the room with a location, calling his team together to assemble support teams for a coordinated raid. 

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As Colby said, they knew it was right address when the shooting started. Ian was able to take out one of the ‘tribe’ by flanking behind and to the left, with Don’s team fanned out in front of him. The main structure of the old salvage yard was filled with junk – and the mannequin torsos that had been conspicuously missing from Duryea’s abandoned hideout in the city. Ian got a faint whiff of the same chemical smell, and radioed the intel to the rest of the team. “Watch out for the mannequins, they’re rigged to explode. Looks like they’re damn near everywhere in here.” 

The second ‘tribe’ member retreated further into the building after her companion went down, allowing the agents a little time to regroup. Ian spotted a fixed ladder on the wall, did a quick scan of the space to be sure he wasn’t making himself a target, and climbed it quickly, hoping to get a glimpse of Duryea. The ladder led to some kind of loft space, giving him a view of an old enclosed office area, which looked as though Duryea had converted into some kind of weird nest – there were piles of pillows and blankets on the floor, and as he tried to get a peek at more through the windows someone moved one of the mannequin bombs in front of it. Ian’s radio crackled.

“Ian?” It was Don, asking for a situation report.

“They went for the throw phone. They’re also moving more of those bombs in front of the windows. Duryea is blocked by a bomb and Amita, can’t risk another shot – looks like you’re going to get a call in about two seconds.” Ian cursed quietly off-radio, feeling conflicting urges to maintain sight of Amita while also trying to see if he could get a better angle. Duryea was intending to set off some fireworks, and Ian was not going to let him take Amita with him.

“All right,” came Don’s reply. “I’m heading into the command truck.”

Ian waited, listening to the chatter of the raid team as they got into position to cover the salvage yard, and Charlie’s confirmation that the dummy website that would help Amita fake the attack on the credit card company’s servers was ready to go. He could barely see Duryea through the gaps in the window, the throw phone up to his ear and Amita turning around in her chair. Her long black hair was waving wildly as she gestured angrily. Ian grinned. It was about time Duryea encountered a woman who wouldn’t take any of his shit, even if Ian wished it hadn’t been under these circumstances. It looked like Amita was holding up well.

Duryea screamed back at her, going red in the face, and Amita turned back toward the computer with a resigned and weary expression. 

Ian heard Don’s voice again. “Okay, Colby, you’re with me. Nikki, you’ve got the phone. Ian, Larry thinks that Duryea arranged a safe route around the back, we’re going in. Be ready.”

All at once, the shooting started again, as the last two members of Duryea’s ‘tribe’ took up positions to defend the route that Don was taking toward the office area. Ian saw some movement within, more mannequins being shifted, and Duryea holding a handgun, aiming at Amita’s back.

“Ian?”

“No shot,” he replied tersely. 

“Hey, Ian,” Nikki’s voice came on the radio. “Charlie wants to talk to you.”

“Go ahead.” Ian kept his sight trained on Duryea, waiting for the instant he had a safe shot.

“Ian, I’m just about to run the program that will make it look like Amita’s attack on the servers was successful, and I can send her a message immediately after. What should I tell her to do? Where should she move? We’ve got to time this exactly right, or Duryea will see it, and –“

“I’ve got it, Professor,” Ian said. “Tell her to duck straight down. I’ve got a shot as long as she gets down.”

There was a look of elation on Duryea’s face, and the man gestured with the hand holding the gun, his eyes alight with some kind of internal, incomprehensible zeal. Ian counted his breath out and held it. Amita twitched slightly, looking surprised, then dove for cover, disappearing out of Ian’s sight completely.

He took the shot. 

And then another, dropping the redheaded woman who raised her gun at Don’s team.

Don’s voice was on the radio. “We’re going in! Everybody freeze, don’t move, let me see those hands! I want to see your hands! Hey, Amita, you okay, sweetie? You hit?” Ian heard Amita’s voice, shaky but alive, letting Don know that she was unharmed. Then Amita’s voice got louder, and Ian could see her stumble over to where Duryea was being cuffed on the floor.

“My book will be called ‘Two Days With A Computer Illiterate,’ you delusional fucking _nincompoop!”_

Ian had to stifle a laugh, hoping that Amita being so righteously angry was a sign that she would get through this okay. He shouldered his rifle and made his way down the ladder, heading out into the yard. Charlie and Amita were hugging fiercely, the two of them mumbling incoherent apologies and expressions of gratitude while Larry hovered a short distance away.

Amita pulled out of the embrace first, wiping tears from her eyes while almost laughing in relief. She turned, saw Ian standing there, and threw her arms around him as well. 

“Thank you,” Amita whispered, and Ian awkwardly gave her a squeeze, patting her back a few times. 

“Thank _you,_ I’ve been wanting to shoot him for months,” he said jokingly, and Amita actually giggled, although it was a little watery.

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“Hey, babe, no falling asleep,” Ian said, tugging slightly on Charlie’s damp curls. “You fall asleep on top of me and we’ll both be prunes by the time we get out.”

The two of them were sharing a bath in the large, claw-foot tub that was part of the Craftsman’s original construction. Ian was leaning against the back of the tub, with Charlie right against his chest.

“Can I help it if you’re just that comfortable?” Charlie sighed. Really, it was asking too much not to fall asleep right here with Ian’s arms wrapped around him, the water still pleasantly warm. Besides, he hadn’t gotten much sleep in the last two days. “I need to go into CalSci a little earlier tomorrow, I’m taking one of Amita’s classes. Larry’s taking the one in the afternoon.”

“Amita’s parents got in okay, then?”

“Yes, she’s staying with them in some big hotel suite they reserved – she said she preferred it to trying to put them up in her apartment. I’m not sure how long she’ll want to be in such close proximity to them, though. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate their support, but…”

“I get it.” Ian absently ran his hand up and down Charlie’s chest. “I know they were dealing with a lot, but her father seemed pretty intense, from what I heard of him on the phone.”

Charlie shrugged. “That’s not his fault. I did say that he’d never liked me much, and when Amita and I broke up she kind of played up the heartbreak on her end so that she could keep her parents from trying to set her up with someone else. Or at least get them to tone it down a little.”

Ian hummed noncommittally, leaning forward slightly so that he could nuzzle Charlie’s ear while his hand drifted lower. He heard Charlie give a quiet gasp and felt his hands tighten around his knees. “This all right, Professor? Or do you want to fall asleep again?”

“I guess I can stay awake for this.” Charlie’s sentence ended on a moan as Ian tightened his grip, changing his strokes as he felt Charlie’s cock getting hard. Ian was getting hard, too, his own cock nestled up against Charlie’s lower back. He began to lick and nip at Charlie’s neck, and the smaller man tilted his head back against Ian’s shoulder, giving him better access. 

When Ian’s free hand slid across Charlie’s chest to pinch and roll one of his nipples, Charlie’s whole body jerked and he cried out. “You’re going to make a mess if you keep thrashing around like that,” Ian purred, starting to increase the speed of his strokes and twisting his wrist as he did so. 

Charlie’s reply was incoherent, and he shifted his grip from Ian’s knee to the side of the tub, trying to keep still, but unable to keep his hips from bucking up in time with the strokes. A moment later his breath caught and his whole body went rigid as he came, then limp as a cooked noodle, sagging back against his boyfriend.

He waited until he got his wind back before pulling himself up, getting his feet partway under him so that he could turn around and face Ian. He knelt, leaning forward to take Ian’s lips in a kiss. He put one hand on the back of the tub to brace himself, and his other hand slipped beneath the water. 

Ian made deep hum of pleasure when Charlie’s hand found his cock and started jerking it in long, languid strokes. He opened his mouth, letting Charlie in to deepen the kiss. They lazily explored each other, Charlie’s mouth drifting down Ian’s neck to his collarbone, then further still until he found one of his nipples. The sniper arched his back into the touch, admiring the lines of Charlie’s body in front of him, and the curve of his ass. He had plans for that ass, although he was already mentally postponing them until after his boyfriend had gotten a decent night’s sleep. The hunt was over. He had some time.

Charlie’s movements grew faster, and on the upstroke he rubbed his thumb over the tip of Ian’s cock. Ian groaned and snagged a handful of Charlie’s hair, gently pulling him up for another kiss. The mathematician gave a breathy chuckle against Ian’s mouth and sucked on Ian’s lower lip, biting down softly. He continued stroking him through his orgasm, backing the pace and pressure off a little but not stopping until Ian finally reached out and stilled his hand.

They let the bath drain while they dried each other off, Ian taking the opportunity to check on Charlie’s head wound as he carefully ruffled the towel through dark, curly hair. It was looking…actually it was looking worse than it had, although he knew that was just because of the progression of the bruising. 

“You sure you’re going to be all right to teach tomorrow?” Ian tried to keep the concern out of his tone, but Charlie shot him a knowing look. 

“I’m fine, I actually feel a lot better. And look.” Charlie reached up and ran his hand through his hair, teasing it over his forehead with a few quick movements. “You can barely even see it.”

Ian huffed. There was clearly no chance of talking Charlie into playing hooky, especially since he was helping to cover for someone else. Pity.

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Don leaned back in his chair at the dining room table, feeling content. His father’s cooking had been excellent as always, and he was working on his second beer. Robin was cozied up next to him, their chairs touching they were so close together, and she had abandoned her glass of red wine in favor of resting her head on his shoulder. 

The others were in the living room, Alan in his armchair, his attention divided between the newspaper and the game that Ian had turned on. Ian was sitting on the sofa and Charlie was curled up next to him, his head in his lap. The house felt…full in a way that it hadn’t for a really long time, even with the regular gatherings that Alan – well, and Charlie – had started to host for the FBI and CalSci team. 

He knew that part of his contentment was due to the fact that they’d gotten Amita back alive, and relatively unharmed. And Charlie was okay. Things could easily have gone very differently, so many moments in time when one outcome or another hinged on something that seemed so small, on decisions that might have been trivial in other circumstances. It was amazing how quickly things could change irrevocably. His thoughts roamed back – what was it, only a couple of days ago? To that conversation in Charlie’s new office. His little brother had been fretting about the future, about living up to the destiny that all of the experts, tutors, and specialists had told him over and over he was meant to fulfill. 

_Do you what you want, on any given day,_ Don had said. Maybe he should take his own advice. He had already talked to his father about it.

“You look like you’re thinking hard,” Robin teased, stroking his hand on the table. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Don smiled at her. “Been doing a lot of thinking lately.”

“Care to share?” She inquired.

“Yeah.” He shifted in his seat. “I’ve…the time that we’ve had together, it’s been even better than the first time. I know that we haven’t even moved in together –“

Robin interrupted him. “If you’re not here, or at the office, you’ve been at my house. I mean, you have a _drawer.”_ That had been significant. “I don’t know why you even still pay rent on your apartment, or why your landlord hasn’t called the cops on you for trespassing.”

Don gave a quiet laugh. “The point is, that I’ve been thinking. About what I want out of life, and you know I think I’m starting to figure that out. I know what I want, more than ever. I want you to marry me.”

Robin’s blue eyes went wide, and started to fill with tears. Don leaned forward, brushing his lips softly against hers. “Will you marry me?” He whispered, and all of a sudden Robin reached out, holding his face in both of her hands.

“Yes.” She said, and kissed him. Don felt this indescribable warm feeling flood through him, as though everything was clicking into place. He fumbled in his pocket.

“I, um, I don’t know if this will fit, or if you’ll even like it,” Don mumbled. “It’s just that I talked to Dad a few days ago, and he said I shouldn’t ask you without a ring.” He held out his hand, a ring resting in the center of his palm. The band was classic yellow gold, and it was set with three diamonds, the largest one in the middle, and two of equal size on either side. An older style, but beautiful all the same. “This…it was Mom’s.”

_“Oh.”_ Robin reverently picked up the ring, turning it in the light before trying it on the ring finger on her left hand. It actually did fit.

“Don’t think that this has to be it,” Don said quickly, searching her face. “If you want a different style or something, I know we hadn’t really even talked seriously about this –“

“Shut up,” Robin said, her voice fond. “I love it. And I love you.” She kissed him again.

Don grinned stupidly, feeling like his face was going to break because it couldn’t contain all the happiness he felt. It was weird. But good.

“Should we tell them?” Robin asked with a smile, nodding her head at the men in the living room.

“No need, I heard everything,” Ian called back casually.

Don nearly jumped in shock, and then cursed. “Fuck, Ian, just how good is your hearing?”

“Heard what?” Alan interrupted, raising his head from the paper. “What did you hear?”

“Robin said yes,” Ian said, as though giving a situation report. But his grin was wide when he turned his head to look at them.

“What?!” Alan jumped to his feet, not caring that his newspaper drifted to the floor, its pages falling out of order.

Don chuckled and got to his feet, pulling Robin with him, and the two of them made their way into the living room. “Yeah, against anyone else’s better judgment, she said yes.” Robin punched him lightly in the arm.

“That’s –“ Alan’s voice cracked, and he swallowed. “That’s wonderful news, Robin, welcome to the family.” He wrapped her up in a big bear hug. “And you – good for you. Congratulations.” After releasing Robin, Alan gave Don the same treatment.

Don poked his head over the back of the sofa, seeing that Charlie had fallen asleep with his head in Ian’s lap. “Figures that Chuck would sleep through my engagement.”

Ian laughed and shook Charlie’s shoulder gently. “Babe, wake up. Don’s got some news.”

Charlie cracked an eye and yawned. “What?”

“I’m getting married, Chuck.”

“Oh, good.” Charlie closed his eyes again. Then he jerked upright, turning to look at Don in shock. “Wait, what? Really?”

“Yes, really,” Don said in a mock-irritated tone, but he couldn’t hold a straight face.

Charlie leapt up, circling around the sofa and hitting Don with almost a flying tackle. Don felt the air whoosh out of his lungs – he always forgot how strong his brother was. “That’s great, Donnie!” Charlie was grinning, and he hugged Robin more gently. “I know where all the naked baby pictures are, so –“

“Charlie!” Don barked, his face going red. 

Robin winked at him. “I’ll let you know when I might need them,” she said, laughing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set around S6E8, “Ultimatum.”
> 
> Content Note: brief implied reference to rape, brief implied reference to suicidal ideation.

Ian slipped quietly back into Charlie’s room and bent down to pull some fresh jeans and a shirt from his duffle bag, not wanting to wake his sleeping boyfriend. Charlie had_ better_ be sleeping, after what they’d been up to for most of the night. With Alan out of town on a business trip with his partner Stan, it was a rare opportunity to have the house to themselves, and they had definitely been taking advantage.

But Ian had some business of his own to attend to, and if he didn’t move on it now then they might lose a key witness against Xavier Salazar – and Ian hadn’t dragged that bastard’s ass all the way back from Bogota to just let him skate on those drug charges, or get away with continuing to run his heroin ring from inside a federal penitentiary. It was time to roust Costello. He wasn’t the most reliable of Ian’s informants, but he usually had good information when it came to the drug trade.

A sleepy murmur came from the bed. Ian couldn’t make out any specific words, but he thought he heard a note of inquiry. He was starting to become fluent in Charlie mumbles.

“It’s nothing, babe, go back to sleep. I have to go out for a few hours, I’ll be back soon.” Ian finished lacing up his boots.

There was a sigh and another, shorter murmur, then just the sound of Charlie’s slow, regular breathing. Ian smiled and planted a light kiss on the mathematician’s cheek, really the only area of skin that was exposed, he was snuggled so deeply under the covers.

Ian removed his Glock from its case and holstered it on his hip as he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

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There was someone pounding on the door. Charlie grunted and forced his eyes open. There was sunlight visible through his bedroom window, but just barely. The fuck? – who was at the door at this hour?! And they weren’t going away, either, if the increasing intensity and volume of the pounding were any indication. 

Charlie huffed to himself and reached over to shake Ian awake. His hand met nothing but the sheets, and he raised his head in confusion, staring at the empty space next to him. Maybe Ian had already gotten up – but if that was the case, then why wouldn’t he have answered the door? And coffee. If Ian were up, he’d be smelling coffee.

Tossing the covers back, Charlie sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, picking up his phone from the nightstand and taking a quick look at the screen. He didn’t have any missed calls, but... 

Something was wrong.

Charlie hurriedly pulled on a T-shirt and sweats, running a hand through his hair as he thumped down the stairs to open the front door. His stomach dropped when he saw FBI vests on the men standing just outside the front door. There were a few more people milling around on the front lawn, also wearing vests.

“What –“ Charlie’s throat was bone dry, and he swallowed. “What happened? Is it Don? Is it – did something happen to Ian?”

The taller of the two agents looked down at him with icy blue eyes. “What makes you say that, Dr. Eppes?”

“Because you’re knocking at my door at something like six in the morning,” Charlie snapped. “What’s going on?”

“We’re serving a warrant, Dr. Eppes. Please step aside.” The agent made to enter the house, but Charlie planted himself squarely in front of him.

“I don’t think so – it’s Simmons, right? Let me see that warrant.”

Agent Simmons shrugged and handed it over. Charlie scanned it quickly, his eyebrows raising higher at each successive line.

“A search warrant? For what?” Charlie’s gaze was hard when he re-directed it at the men standing in front of him.

“For material evidence related to the case, now step aside.” Simmons’ partner pushed against the door, which slipped out of Charlie’s grip and swung wide, banging against the coat rack. 

“What case?” Charlie demanded, his anger rising. “Tell me what’s going on!”

He got no answer as Simmons and the rest of his team entered the house, two of them heading upstairs while the rest of them stayed on the ground floor. 

“Fine.” Charlie held up his phone, resisting the urge to tell them that he was going to call his brother. In a strange way saying it out loud felt childish, like he was tattling on them. He shook his head, brushing off that ridiculous feeling, and made the call. Don would tell him what was happening, or he would be able to find out quickly.

There was no answer, the phone ringing until it went to Don’s recorded voice telling him to leave a message. “Don, there are agents here serving a search warrant on the house. Call me back,” Charlie said tersely. 

He scrolled through his contacts, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety solidifying in his stomach, and called Ian. Again there was no answer, and Charlie didn’t bother leaving a message. 

Something was seriously wrong.

“Gun!” Called one of the agents who had gone upstairs. She came out of Charlie’s room, holding Ian’s rifle in its soft case.

“That’s a rifle, not a gun,” Charlie said coldly. He’d picked up a few things in the last few years, being a sniper’s boyfriend, and one of them was that snipers were very pedantic on the difference. _Ian’s going to be pissed,_ he thought.

“Are there any other firearms in the house, Dr. Eppes?” Agent Simmons came out of the kitchen, nodding at the other agent, giving her approval to take the rifle out to the SUV waiting outside.

Charlie looked pointedly at the gun in Simmons’ holster. “Just the ones you brought with you.”

Simmons turned to face him, head tilted, considering. “When’s the last time you saw Ian Edgerton, Dr. Eppes?”

“I don’t think I’m going to answer your questions,” Charlie said. “You certainly haven’t answered any of mine.”

One of Simmons’ team opened up Charlie’s satchel, which he’d left on one of the dining room chairs, and pulled out the laptop.

“Hey! Excuse me!” Charlie squawked. “You can’t take that.” He almost ran at the guy, snatching the laptop out of his hands.

“You got something to hide?” The agent asked belligerently.

“Have you got top secret DOE Q clearance?” Charlie retorted. “Because if not you’re committing a federal crime. That’s my laptop, that’s my work. You can’t take it.”

“Leave it, Felton. It’s outside of the scope of the warrant, anyway,” Simmons instructed. He turned back to Charlie, eyebrows raised. “Department of Energy?”

“The FBI is not the only agency I consult for,” Charlie said stiffly, clutching his laptop to his chest protectively. He checked his phone again, as if staring at the screen would somehow make Don or Ian call him back more quickly. 

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Ian stood ramrod straight in the center of the office, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. 

He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, the same clothing worn by the prisoners housed in the Los Angeles Federal Penitentiary. 

_The other prisoners,_ he thought, trying to stay detached from the meaning behind it. This was all a mistake. This could be fixed. He had to fix this.

Don was sitting in one of the chairs in front of Marshal Frank Thompson’s desk, saying nothing. Just watching Ian, his expression guarded.

Ian decided to be the first to break the silence. “So,” he said, looking directly at Don. “Does this mean I’m out of the wedding party?”

“This isn’t funny,” Don growled, his face going sour.

“I’m not laughing,” Ian shot back. “Have you called Charlie yet?”

Don looked away, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Right,” Ian said scornfully. “I thought prison was where _convicted _felons go. Aren’t we skipping a step?”

“Detention centers are overcrowded,” said Thompson, his voice smug. “This will give you a chance to catch up with some of your old friends. You know, the guys you put away for life.”

Ian glared at him, but his gut twisted. They hadn’t put him in the general population. Or his cell. Not yet. And Ian knew what his chances were if that happened. Strange how quickly he got pushed from one side of the line to the other. They hadn’t taken him to the FBI office for interrogation, as he’d expected. The U.S. Marshals were running this op, and they’d dumped him here for processing right after the arrest.

Don cleared his throat, holding out a file. “Ian, you know this guy?”

“Xavier Salazar,” Ian said, barely glancing at the photo before dropping the file on Thompson’s desk. “Top ten FBI most wanted list, five years running before I brought him in. He’s currently serving a life sentence right here.”

“Salazar’s been running a massive heroin ring from the inside.” Thompson tapped the edges of the papers in the file so that they lined up neatly, then straightened it on his desk so that it was placed perfectly parallel with the edge.

“No shit,” Ian said. “That’s what I was working on when you arrested me.”

“You’ve been _helping_ him,” Thompson said. “By letting key associates of his run free.”

“Of course I have.” Ian’s tone was dismissively sarcastic. He started to pace back and forth in the office. He could feel the walls starting to close in around him.

“Half a million dollars in an off-shore account with your name on it.” Thompson held up a sheet of paper. “The transfers came from several of Salazar’s holding companies.”

“Five hundred thousand dollars?” Ian took the paper, frowning as he read through the information it contained. “I’m a cheap date. But I’m not that cheap.” He dropped the paper onto the desk. Thompson reached out and squared it up with Salazar’s file. 

“You think if I was trying to hide money off-shore I’d put it under my own fucking name? I’m being set up.”

“Costello was going to give you up,” Thompson said, this time holding up one of the crime scene photos. It depicted Ian’s former CI, blood running down his chest from the slit in his neck. “So you killed him.”

Ian chuckled grimly. “You’ve got a rich fantasy life, Frank.”

“They found this in a sewer about a block away from where Costello was killed,” Don said quietly, placing an evidence bag down. It held a blood-stained hunting knife. The handle of the knife was made from deer antler. Ian recognized it. His mother had given it to him before he was shipped off to basic training, right after he’d joined the military. It had belonged to her father.

It was a murder weapon now. He wasn’t getting it back.

“Someone must have stolen it from my apartment, Don, I didn’t bring it with me.” How could he kill anyone with a knife that was supposed to be almost three thousand miles away? And though Ian didn’t spend a lot of time at his apartment, the thought of anyone entering it without him knowing, of _stealing_ from him, filled him with rage.

“Ian, we had a Quantico team search your place in Southbridge, and a local team search the house here. There was no sign of forced entry in either location.”

Ian stared at Don, honestly shocked. He understood searching the apartment. But the fact that Don had a team do the same to the Craftsman, as though Ian would ever intentionally bring this kind of shit to Charlie’s doorstep… That hurt. More than Ian thought it would.

“Well, then I must be guilty,” Ian said, his voice hard. 

“Why were you meeting him?” Don asked.

“I told you, I was working on busting the heroin ring. _We’ve_ been trying to shut down Salazar, too, since apparently _you guys_ couldn’t manage to handle this on your own. The key is his bookkeeper, Felipe Garcia.” Ian leaned down, intentionally skewing all of the papers on Thompson’s desk as he opened Salazar’s file and pointed to a photo a few pages in. 

Thompson snorted in irritation. “Garcia escaped from here a month ago.”

“Costello was looking into Garcia’s location, we’d agreed to meet right when you guys showed up – how _did_ you know when to drop by?” Ian asked it as though he didn’t expect an answer. “Salazar must have found out and had him killed. Costello left me a clue: B-17. It’s a location within this facility, block B, cell 17. I don’t think Garcia ever left here.”

“That’s impossible,” Thompson snapped. “Every prisoner in here gets an ID bracelet – just like yours.” The Marshal glanced down at Ian’s left wrist. “Bracelets get scanned once a day. If Garcia were here, he would have shown up by now.”

Ian gritted his teeth, suddenly wanting to tear the damn bracelet off – he didn’t care if he’d have to chew through his wrist to do it, he just wanted it off. He wanted the orange jumpsuit off, he wanted out of this fucking prison. He turned to Don, looking him in the eye. “Have you ever known my instincts to be wrong?”

Don said nothing, and dropped his gaze after a few seconds. 

Ian nodded. There wasn’t anything left to say. If it couldn’t be fixed here, with Don’s help, then he’d have to force the issue. Or die trying. 

He walked to the guard, turning and placing his hands behind his back. “I’m ready to go to my cell now.”

01101110 01110101 01101101 01100010 01100101 01110010 01110011 0001010

“ – he is one of the FBI’s own, Special Agent Ian Edgerton, who is believed to be the primary suspect in the murder of Vincent Costello – “

Charlie was watching the TV screen, he could hear what the reporter was saying. He saw Ian’s photo up in the corner superimposed over a wide shot of the L.A. Federal Penitentiary. The chyron said ‘Manhunt Underway.’ But he was having trouble believing that any of this was real – it was so…_wrong,_ not a single word of it made any sense. It felt like a nightmare, except that he was already awake.

He barely registered Simmons standing next to him, and it took him a minute to realize that the agent had said something to him. He looked up. “What?”

“We’re all finished up here, Dr. Eppes,” said Simmons. “Apologies for the damage – if you’d like to make a list and send it to the office –“

“Get out.” Charlie stood, trying and failing to stay calm. “If you’re done, then _get out._ Get out of my house.”

Simmons looked as though he wanted to say something, but wisely kept his mouth shut. He ordered his team out of the house, closing the front door behind him as he was the last to leave. 

Charlie looked around the house. It wasn’t so much the damage – although there was some. But the mess they had left behind after rummaging through every storage area, tossed around every item which could be used to hide something… And it was in _every_ room – the room he shared with Ian, his father’s room, Don’s old room – they had been everywhere except for the garage, which was detached from the house and not specified in the warrant. Charlie had been very adamant in pointing that out, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel grateful that at least the garage had remained undisturbed – they should never have been here at the house in the first place.

He’d called Don three times, and still no answer.

A quick text conversation with Amita, and his classes were covered for the day – and he had a standing offer for any help she could provide. He didn’t have the words for how much that meant to him, that Amita hadn’t even questioned Ian’s innocence, stating that she owed him after the Duryea case. 

He weighed the merits of taking the time to shower, and decided on a quick one. He didn’t know how late he’d be, because he sure as fuck wasn’t coming back to the house without Ian.

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Ian pushed Colby roughly up against the support column in the middle of the disused break room, keeping the agent’s own gun trained on him while he removed the handcuffs from his belt.

“Hands in front, around the column,” he ordered, giving Colby a sharp nudge when he was slow to obey. He slapped the cuffs around Colby’s wrists, locking him in place with his arms hugging the column. It was a little bit of a tight fit, and Colby was having to roll his shoulders forward to maintain the position. Ian could see that eventually that position was going to get very uncomfortable, but least he wasn’t going anywhere.

Ian’s next action was to turn the bolt on the break room door – he’d heard Don, David, and the Marshals retreat down the hallway, but he didn’t want them to have unencumbered access when they decided to come back. He turned, scanning the room, and a feral grin lit on his face when he saw the old toaster on the counter next to the sink.

“Let me be clear about something,” he said conversationally as he yanked the power cord out of the appliance and used a paring knife he found in a drawer to strip the ends of the wires. “The FBI, the Marshals – they put me in this situation.”

Colby grunted. He was angry with himself about being caught by surprise, about how easily he and Don could be dead right now if Ian didn’t need a hostage. “Ian, I always knew you were a nine ball, but you know, I considered your track record, and I figured it was okay.”

Ian smirked as he tossed the discarded insulation on the ground. A nine ball, huh? So much for being a combat legend. Colby was trying to rattle him, standard procedure in a situation like this – get the suspect off their stride, try to introduce uncertainty so that the negotiator has some room to work. He grabbed a fork out of the drawer and made his way to the break room door.

“Let me ask you something,” Colby continued, shuffling around the support column so that he could better see what Ian was doing. “How many HRTs you been on?”

“Fifty-seven,” Ian answered, glancing back at him. He split the power cord, separating the two wires and wrapping the exposed ends of one around the tines of the fork. He wedged the fork under the door. 

“And how many times did the perp wind up in jail?”

Ian wrapped the exposed portion of the other wire around the doorknob, then plugged the power cord into the adjacent wall outlet. “Forty-one.” He knew what Colby was saying. He was pointing out the odds of Ian’s survival as a hostage taker.

“What happened the other sixteen times, Ian?”

The sniper straightened with a sigh. “I had to clean my gun when I got home.” He pulled Colby’s Glock out of his waistband – where he would normally _never_ carry a gun, but he had to maintain control of the weapon – and approached the agent. His _friend,_ he would have thought, under normal circumstances. “There’s two things you’ve got to understand about me, Granger. Number one, I didn’t kill Costello.”

Colby nodded. “And two?”

“There’s no way I’m going to jail,” Ian said, stone-faced. If things went bad… If this couldn’t be fixed, well. He had Colby’s gun and he’d only need to use it once.

“I’ve got news for you, you’re already here.” Colby gazed pointedly around the room before looking back at Ian.

Ian didn’t say anything in reply. He knew what the next step was – they would call in, try to negotiate. He crossed the room, settling in to wait by the telephone on the wall.

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David took a deep breath, exhaled slowly as he tried to put himself in the right frame of mind, and picked up the handset of the phone in the impromptu joint command post that he’d set up in the security room in the same quadrant as the break room where Ian was holding Colby hostage.

The phone started ringing, Nikki and Thompson listening in on wired headsets. It was picked up after the second ring.

“I’ll keep it simple,” Ian’s voice came on the line, sounding brisk and to the point. “A G5 fueled on the tarmac at LAX…and a Beatles reunion.”

That threw David off, and he had to pause for a moment before he continued to follow protocol. “I want to know what I have to do to get my partner out of there safely.”

“There’s only Paul and Ringo, shouldn’t be too hard,” Ian said reasonably.

“You want to play around?” David snapped, kicking himself for letting Ian successfully take control of the script. “I’ve got twenty Marshals out here, itching to turn this into a bloodbath, okay?”

“Get me Charlie on a video feed in the next twenty minutes.” Ian’s tone was suddenly deadly serious. “There’s a setup already in here that we can use, you can get that information from Thompson.”

“I need to know that Colby’s all right,” David persisted.

“He’s fine as long as no one does anything stupid – like a crisis entry, which I’m sure the Marshals are pushing for. Everyone stays smart, he’ll stay that way.”

David ground his teeth together. The problem with protocol and scripts became apparent when the other party knew them just as well – probably better, in Ian’s case. He covered the receiver with his large hand, and looked at Nikki. “You want to try talking? He’s got a soft spot for you.”

Nikki rolled her eyes. “Ian doesn’t have soft spots.” But she took the phone anyway, and David stepped out of the room to call Don.

“Ian, it’s me.”

“Betancourt, it’s been a while since I’ve heard your voice.”

“Well, it’s been a while since you worked a case with us. But being back in town, you know, seeing Charlie – that must have made you happy.” Nikki’s speech was deliberate, trying not to talk too fast.

“You know what would make me happy?” Ian demanded, his tone sharpening. “What would make me happy is to have my friends _trust me.”_

“We do – I do –“

“Really? That’s why you’re trying to keep me on the line, to give the Marshals time to figure out a way to _take me out?”_

“Taking Colby hostage is not going to help your case,” Nikki said urgently. “If you’re innocent, we’ll prove it.”

“I spent my career putting my ass on the line, thinking it would make a difference. And how does the Bureau repay me? By putting me behind bars. By believing scum like Salazar.” Ian was shouting now.

Nikki pursed her lips unhappily. “No one’s convicted you of anything yet.”

Ian laughed bitterly. “Look around you, Betancourt, and tell me where the fuck we are right now. You think I haven’t already been convicted? That I’m not already on death row if they put me out in gen pop? If Charlie’s not on my computer screen in the next nineteen minutes, it’s going to get real messy in here.”

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Charlie’s cell phone rang and he answered it quickly, keeping his eyes on the road. “Hello?”

“Hey, buddy.”

“Don.” Charlie’s voice was cold. “Guess who came to the house this morning.”

There was a pause, then a sigh. “Charlie, I couldn’t tell you –“

“They knocked Mom’s picture off the wall,” Charlie interrupted. “Broke the frame and the glass.”

Another, longer pause. “I’ll get that replaced,” Don said, his voice sounding pained. “I’m sorry, Charlie, I really am.”

“Are you also sorry that you didn’t tell me that my boyfriend was arrested? I found out by watching the news.”

“I _couldn’t_ tell you. A lot of shit has gone down today, Charlie, including the fact that your boyfriend just took one of my agents as a hostage.”

Charlie’s mind started to work very quickly. “What’s going on, Don?”

“That’s going to take a little time to explain, buddy, and right now I’m going to need you to meet me at the office –“

“I’ll meet you at the penitentiary,” Charlie cut in. “I’m fifteen minutes away.”

“Of course you are,” Don said, resigned. “Ian’s only serious demand so far is a video conference with you, as soon as possible. I’ll meet you at the entrance in fifteen.” He hung up the phone.

Don was there at the other side of the security checkpoint, waiting as Charlie stepped through the metal detector and his satchel was opened and examined by the guards. Don jerked his head in the direction they needed to go, indicating that Charlie should follow.

“The FBI is not the lead agency on this investigation, Charlie,” Don said in a low voice, keeping his gaze straight ahead. “I requested this assignment when I saw Ian’s name on it. Believe me that this would have been handled very differently if it was our case.”

Charlie nodded.

“One of Ian’s informants was murdered early this morning, and there’s a lot of extremely convenient evidence that just popped up to build the case against him. The murder weapon is one of his own knives, that he swears was in his apartment in Virginia. There’s an off-shore account in his name, with payments coming from this drug kingpin’s holding companies. Someone’s trying to make him look dirty.” Don rubbed his jaw. “The problem is that he’s taken things into his own hands now. He took Colby hostage, and while that gives us an excuse to control the negotiation, the Marshals are getting itchy. It’s only a matter of time before they try to breach.”

“What does he want me for?” Charlie asked. Ian had to be asking for Charlie’s help in some way – Ian wasn’t the sentimental type. He wasn’t asking for his boyfriend, he was asking for a mathematician.

“I guess we’ll find out when you talk to him,” Don said, opening a door and ushering Charlie into the room. “You remember the basic rules of hostage negotiation?”

“Prolong the situation, ensure the safety of the hostage,” Charlie responded absently. 

“And keep things calm,” Don reminded him. Nikki and David were in the small conference room, which had been set up with a laptop. There were two people Charlie didn’t recognize – a man and a woman, both wearing U.S. Marshal vests. 

“Frank Thompson, Janet Galvin, this is my brother, Dr. Charles Eppes.” Don made brief introductions.

Galvin examined Charlie, narrowing her eyes. “Charles Eppes…you had a team serve a warrant on his house this morning.”

Don grimaced. “Yes. Edgerton stays at the house when he’s in L.A.”

“Oh really? Why is that?”

“Because he’s my boyfriend,” Charlie said curtly, pulling out the chair so that he could sit down.

Galvin snorted. “Well, once we get this resolved there will be plenty of guys here wanting to be his boyfriend.”

Charlie froze, then carefully set his satchel down on the floor. He strode purposefully towards the door, yanked it open, and glared at Galvin. “You. Out. Right now.”

“You can’t be serious –“

_“Leave!”_ Charlie hissed. “You get the fuck out, or I’m not talking to anybody.”

Galvin looked around the room, as though she expected any of the FBI agents to overrule the mathematician. Don moved to face her, crowding her space so that she stepped back a little. “You heard him,” he said softly, but his eyes were hard. “You’re out of this room.”

“Go check on the strike team, Galvin,” Thompson said reluctantly. “If this falls through we’re going to need them to go in.”

The Marshal gave Charlie an angry look and stared him down as she left the room. Charlie didn’t waver, and when she was past the threshold he flung the door closed behind her, breathing hard. He slammed his fist against the door, once, then sat down in front of the laptop without a word to anyone.

The screen was dark for a moment, and then suddenly Ian’s image appeared. Charlie looked him over quickly – he was covered in dust, his orange clothing smudged. He looked unhurt, but there was a cold desperation in his dark eyes, something that only people who knew him well would be able to recognize.

“Hey, Ian.”

“Sorry to drag you into this, Professor. But I need your skills.”

Behind the laptop screen, Don was holding up a pad of paper, upon which ‘Colby?’ was scrawled.

“I need to ask you about Colby,” Charlie said, dragging his eyes back to the screen. “How’s he doing?”

The image in front of him blurred as Ian turned the monitor camera to show Colby, handcuffed to the support column. Colby looked disgruntled more than anything. “Everything’s going to be fine, Charlie, just listen to what he has to say.”

The camera was turned back to Ian. “Satisfied, Eppes?” 

Charlie looked up at Don, knowing that Ian was talking to his brother. Don rolled his eyes slightly.

“How are you?” Charlie asked quietly.

“Oh, just fine,” Ian said, in a falsely lighthearted tone. “Except for the fact that I’ve been set up for a murder I didn’t commit and am looking at the death penalty, if the inmates don’t decide to execute me first.”

Charlie felt his stomach roil, and he had to swallow to control his nausea. “What do you need?”

“Salazar was afraid that Garcia was going to testify against him and put out an order for him to be whacked, but Garcia escaped before the job got done. On the outside, Garcia wouldn’t have had anyone to turn to for help except for Salazar’s people. He wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes – if he’d really escaped, we would have found his body by now. But inside the prison would be the perfect place for him to hide until he could talk to the cops and guarantee protection for himself.”

“You think Garcia’s hiding within the prison system?”

“Using someone else’s identity,” Ian nodded. “What I was _trying_ to tell your brother.” He held up his left hand, showing the orange bracelet with a barcode. “The prisoners all wear ID bracelets, and they’re easy enough to get off.” Ian used the paring knife to cut through the plastic, demonstrating. “And once you do, you’re lost in the system.”

Charlie nodded. “How many prisoners are there?”

“Six thousand,” Ian replied.

“Okay, well now I understand why you wanted to talk to me,” Charlie pulled a notebook out of his satchel and started scribbling. “You’re talking about a longitudinal socializing process as it applies to the prison population.”

Ian shrugged slightly. “Sounds complex.”

“Very,” Charlie muttered, continuing to write.

“Hopefully not too complex, because Colby and I are counting on you to get it right.” The screen went dark.

“What he’s saying is impossible,” Thompson said dismissively. “Every bracelet is scanned at least once a day. We would have found anyone trying to hide here in the system.”

“Out of six thousand prisoners you match each code individually to the person assigned to it? Daily? Every single one of the guards know what each prisoner is supposed to look like, just from a number and a name?” Charlie’s eyebrows were raised.

“The scanning data is transmitted to a database. There’s a program that checks for errors.” Thompson’s reply was defensive.

“How long have you worked in the prison system?” Charlie asked.

Thompson drew himself up. “Fifteen years.”

“In fifteen years you should have learned not to discount the ingenuity of people with nothing to lose and nothing but time on their hands.”

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Ian wedged a small table against the break room door, more out of a desire to be doing something than any real belief that it would keep out a strike team. If it were him on the other side of this, he’d be setting up to come through the wall. Drywall was easier to get through than a steel door. He thought he would be feeling better, knowing that Charlie was working on finding Garcia, but he wasn’t. He could feel the momentum building behind this frame job, and once the tipping point was reached he wasn’t sure there would be any stopping it.

He stepped back, eyeing the placement of the table critically, then turned to the old vending machine against the wall. He gave it a hard kick, and a candy bar tumbled into the tray. 

“Want some?” Ian asked Colby, holding up his prize.

“Unless you plan on taking the cuffs off so I can feed myself, no,” Colby said. He was fully leaning against the column now, trying to give his legs a rest.

Ian shrugged and tore open the wrapper. He made a face after taking a bite, and tossed the rest of the candy bar into the sink. “It’s stale anyway.”

“I know how you can get yourself a nice hot pizza,” Colby said hopefully.

Ian grinned. “Sorry, but you’re worth a little more to me than that.”

“Well, _I_ wouldn’t say no to some pizza,” Colby grumbled.

“If I’d known that all you were going to do as a hostage was bitch, I would have taken Don instead,” Ian said, still grinning.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Colby said seriously. “Because you know that Charlie would never forgive you if you got his brother killed during a hostage retrieval. Me, I don’t matter. I’m expendable.”

The grin slid off of Ian’s face. “That’s not why.”

“Oh yeah? Enlighten me.”

“Because you know what it’s like,” Ian said, reluctantly. “Everyone in the FBI thought you were spying for the Chinese – hell, even your own partner thought you were guilty.”

“This is _nothing_ like what I went through,” Colby growled. “So if you’re waiting for the Stockholm Syndrome to kick in, you’ll be waiting a long-ass time. If I get a hold of that gun,” his eyes dropped to the Glock in Ian’s hand. “I won’t hesitate to take you out.”

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David stepped out of the room where Charlie was working on refining the list of possible connections Garcia would have had to make to stay alive underground in the prison, only to be met by two irritated U.S. Marshals. He held back a sigh.

“Okay, I just spoke with Don. He and Charlie are narrowing down the list.”

“I’m not going to just sit around and do nothing while your boy wonder plays with his abacus,” Galvin snapped. She turned to Thompson. “I want to probe the perimeter, see if I can’t get a camera under the door.”

“Edgerton’s a master at tactics, he’s going to be expecting that,” warned David.

“This may not end the way you want it to,” Thompson said gruffly. “You need to be ready.”

“It’s a mistake,” David said insistently.

“I’m not asking your permission, Sinclair.” Thompson nodded to Galvin. “Go.”

Galvin smiled coldly and signaled her team to finish gearing up, and then led the way around the corner.

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Ian heard them coming, and he smirked, looking at Colby and holding up his hand in a “wait for it” gesture. There was a spark on the door knob and a quiet yelp behind it, and then the sound of retreating footsteps. Ian couldn’t hold back a satisfied chuckle.

“Just a few volts, enough to send a message,” he said, seeing Colby’s disapproving expression.

“Oh yeah?” Colby closed his eyes, leaning against the column and shifting his feet, trying to find a more comfortable stance. He’d been standing for hours. The daylight that had once been visible through the high window on the far wall was gone. “What message is that? That you’re a sociopath who enjoys hurting people?”

Ian gave Colby a flat stare as he circled around the column and moved the only chair in the room into position behind him, giving the agent a much-needed way to relieve some of the stress his body was feeling.

“I always liked you, Granger. You served in the military. You’re not afraid to mix it up once in a while. We’ve got a lot in common.”

“I don’t take my friends hostage,” Colby said, sinking slowly and carefully into the chair with a grateful sigh.

“I generally just don’t make friends.” Ian leaned against the counter. “Learned that in the military.”

“Yeah, sometimes military buddies are overrated,” Colby said, thinking of Dwayne.

“You saw combat,” Ian said, as though making conversation. “You get yourself a Purple Heart?”

Colby nodded. That RPG that had taken out their vehicle in Afghanistan – that had earned him a Purple Heart, and Dwayne the Soldier’s Medal for saving his life. 

“Bad enough to be sent home?”

Colby nodded again, this time not meeting Ian’s eyes.

“I got sent home, too.” Ian looked down, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. “But I didn’t get a Purple Heart for it.”

“Covert op?” Colby asked.

“No.” Ian shook his head. “Although I’ve done plenty of those, too. Actually, I was never injured by an enemy combatant. It was guys in my own unit that sent me home. It wasn’t reported that way, of course. You know how it is, you get a reputation for being a snitch and you can kiss your career goodbye.”

Colby looked up at him, shocked. “Fuck, Ian.”

“I was lucky enough to get selected for advanced sniper training after I recovered,” Ian said. “Different command structure. Worked with fewer people directly.”

Colby was quiet, mulling this over. This explained a lot about Ian, actually. It definitely shed some light on why Ian escaped custody within the prison in the first place – he didn’t trust anyone else to straighten this out. Except Charlie.

“You think Charlie is actually going to find Garcia?” Colby asked.

Ian looked at him for a moment, his face impassive. “Charlie’s not going to let me down.”

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“You should look into this,” Charlie said, holding up a stack of papers in one hand, while using his other to continue typing on his laptop. 

Don took them from him, flipping through the pages. His frown got deeper as he checked the dates. “Transfer requests? Garcia requested to be transferred to minimum security?”

“Nikki found those.” Charlie paused and made some notes in his notebook. “Garcia was serving a two-year sentence for obstruction of justice _here._ The Department of Corrections approved all of those requests, but Nikki said they were all rescinded at the last minute.”

“By who?” Don searched the top sheet again, looking for a name.

“By Thompson,” Nikki explained. “Garcia believed – and he was right – that his life was in danger here. Now why would Thompson deny his transfer requests after Corrections approved them?”

“Maybe someone should ask him,” Don said, nodding approvingly at Nikki. She grinned, taking the stack of papers out of his hands and leaving the room.

“Okay.” Charlie sat back, motioning for Don to pull up a chair. “These are the fifty-three inmates most likely to have a deal with Garcia that would allow him to hide behind their identity.”

Together, the brothers went through the list of names, Don rejecting possibilities as they went along, based on time left to serve, connections on the outside, and any number of criteria that Charlie wouldn’t have known to consider – Charlie was just going off of his analysis. These were the names that the math told him were important. It took Don’s insight to get even closer to the truth.

They soon whittled the list of fifty-three down to seven, and Don headed out of the room to get mugshots printed up. The prison was still on lockdown – they knew where these guys were supposed to be. If Garcia were using one of their identities, they’d find him within minutes.

Charlie toyed with the idea of trying to get Ian back on the video conference line while he waited, but didn’t quite dare. This was not his field, and he didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize Ian’s already precarious position.

A few minutes later Don and Nikki returned to the room. Don’s mouth was set in a thin, angry line. “We checked all of the names on the list, Charlie. Garcia’s not here.”

“What?” Charlie’s stomach dropped. The proof of Ian’s innocence hinged on Garcia. He _had_ to be here. 

“This last guy,” Nikki pointed to the last name on the list. “The guy wearing the bracelet associated with Matthew Nunn, he wasn’t actually Matthew Nunn. He said that someone, not Garcia, would get a thousand dollars to his wife on the outside if he switched bracelets.”

“Every prisoner that Garcia has switched bracelets with has increased his chances of survival,” Charlie said, flipping his notebook open to review some of the longitudinal social network analysis he’d done just a few hours earlier. “I missed something. What did I miss?” Charlie checked over the list of parameters and criteria that he’d made right at the beginning, then snapped the notebook shut with one hand. “It’s pursuit evasion.”

“You mean that thing with the snake and the fish?” Nikki asked, referencing a training session that Don and Charlie had co-led for some new FBI agents just a few days prior. 

“No, not fish – think about kids playing hide and seek. The way they distribute themselves in, say, a house, and the way the seeker comes after the ones who are hiding. They won’t move through the house in an orderly fashion – they’ll head to the areas of the house with the greatest number of quality hiding places, like the basement, or the attic. Similarly, just because Garcia started out in block B doesn’t mean that he’d proceed through the rest of the cell blocks in any kind of order.” Charlie was tapping his fingers anxiously on the table now. “No, we need to review the list of prisoners that Garcia could have switched bracelets with, and rank them according to who has the best hiding spot from Salazar and his men.”

“So he could still be here?” Don asked.

Charlie nodded. “He’s done a fantastic job of hiding himself, but there’s nowhere else he could be.”

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“Ian.” Colby shifted, waiting for Ian to respond. “Hey, Ian.”

The sniper looked up from his perch on the counter. He was holding Colby’s gun with both hands, and he’d been resting his forehead against them, trying to control his breathing, the way he would when he was lining up a shot.

Colby didn’t like the way that looked. “Come on, man, you’re getting tired. Let me help you get this whole thing over with, the right way.”

Ian snorted softly. “You think I should just quit? Trust my fate to a jury?”

“Look, I’d rather see you have your day in court alive, than have to stand at your funeral, man.”

“If they keep me in here, Granger, it’s going to be my funeral before I ever see the inside of a courtroom.” Ian sighed. “You’ve seen the way I live. I fit basically my entire life in a duffle bag. I’m on the road constantly. My idea of a five-star hotel is an insulated sleeping bag and a waterproof tent. What the fuck would I even do with five hundred thousand dollars? Have you thought about that?”

The phone on the wall started to ring, and Ian snatched it up. “I’d better hear Garcia’s voice on the other end of this line.”

“Hey, we located him, all right?” David’s tone was urgent. “It’s just going to take us a few minutes to get to him. But right now I need to talk to my partner.”

Ian stretched the cord on the handset as far as it would go, holding it up close to Colby’s ear. “It’s David.”

Colby tried to scoot the chair around the column to get closer. “Still alive.”

“Garcia is in the maximum security wing of the prison,” David said. Colby could hear the stress in his partner’s voice. “Maybe in the meantime, I could send you guys in some food. You know, Italian, maybe some Mexican.”

Ian jerked the phone back to his own ear. “No food. Just Garcia. You’ve got five minutes.” He slammed the handset back down. “Garcia got himself transferred to maximum security.”

“He must have been pretty afraid of Salazar,” Colby ventured.

“No, he could have gotten to a cell block that Salazar doesn’t control. Instead he picked a spot that _no one_ can get to.” Ian shook his head.

“A place that’s monitored 24/7.” Colby was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

“Salazar can’t operate a heroin ring without having some help inside the jail.”

“A Marshal?” Colby looked up at Ian. “You think he’s got a Marshal in his pocket?” Realization dawned. “You let yourself be arrested.”

“I saw them coming.” Ian shrugged. “But I had to get in here somehow, it was the only way to find Garcia before Salazar got to him."

“That’s crazy, man.” Against his will, Colby once again started to feel his customary awe of Ian Edgerton.

“I needed Charlie’s help,” Ian said shortly. “And there was no way I was going to put him in harm’s way by reaching out to him as a fugitive. Besides, if I would have rabbited, no one would have listened to me. We just need to wait five minutes, and Garcia will give us Salazar’s partner on the inside.”

“We…may not have that much time,” Colby admitted. “That bit about the food. Mexico is me and David’s distress word. That means Thompson’s getting ready to breach.”

Ian look hard at him. “So you’ve got to ask yourself, Granger, why is Thompson pushing to make entry? Why wouldn’t he at least listen to what Garcia has to say? He’s got to protect himself, and to do that now, he’s got to kill me.”

The power in the break room went out, and the red emergency lights switched on. Ian pulled a set of small keys out of his pocket, hurriedly unlocking the cuffs around Colby’s wrists. He waited until the agent stood up and did a quick stretch before handing Colby’s Glock to him. Colby checked it. 

The safety was on. It had been the whole time. He met Ian’s gaze, and the sniper winked.

“They’re going to come through the wall,” Colby said, nodding at the section next to the door.

“It’s what I would do.”

“I’ve got your back, Ian. Now get down, behind the column.”

The two of them crouched behind the support column, the only shelter readily available, and the wall exploded inward, showering them in pieces of sheetrock and other debris. Colby yanked Ian to his feet and the sniper hastily put his hands behind his head. 

“I’ve got him!” Colby choked on the dust, moving them both into the center of the room. “I’ve got him, it’s all right!”

The Marshals kept their weapons trained on both of them, and one of them moved forward. It was Thompson, and he had his laser sight pointed right at Ian’s chest. Another figure rushed into the room, pushing the barrel of Thompson’s weapon down to the floor.

“Just in case you don’t shoot any better than you think,” David growled, then looked over at Colby. “You okay?”

Colby nodded, and David let out a relieved breath. He turned back to Thompson. “Where the hell is Galvin?”

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“Charlie,” Don poked his head into the room where Charlie was absently scribbling equations in his notebook. “We found Garcia, we’ve got Ian. He’s safe. Come with me.”

Charlie jumped to his feet, stuffing his notebook into his satchel and following his brother through the hallways until they arrived at Thompson’s office. Ian was standing just inside, his hands cuffed behind his back. He was covered in dust, and Charlie could see a few cuts and bruises – probably from an explosive breach, he realized. The rest of Don’s team was there – Colby also covered in dust – as was Thompson. Galvin, the woman Charlie had kicked out of the room earlier, was not.

“Galvin had been working for Salazar for two years,” Nikki was explaining. “She convinced you to reject all of Garcia’s transfer orders. She was also the one who set up the off-shore accounts under Edgerton’s name. We looked into her recent travel history – it looks like she made a trip to Virginia just two weeks ago. Would have given her plenty of time to break into Edgerton’s apartment to steal his knife, make it look like he was the one who killed Costello.”

“I had no idea,” Thompson rubbed his jaw. “Galvin had some solid reasoning behind the need to keep Garcia at this facility, all I wanted was to keep Salazar’s heroin ring contained.”

“Excuse me,” Charlie interrupted. “Why is Ian still in handcuffs?”

Thompson glared at him. “Technically he’s still in custody until we get a court order, signed by a judge. So for –“ he checked his watch. “Five more hours, until the courts open, he’s still my responsibility.”

“That’s unacceptable,” Charlie said, his voice sounding much calmer than he felt. “Let me tell you why. You fudged standard procedure in the first place, to put him here instead of in a detention center. You threatened to allow prisoners he’d apprehended to gain access to him. The person who framed him for murder reported directly to you. And finally, the events of tonight have made it very clear that you are unable to prevent assassination plots from being carried out in this very facility.”

Thompson’s face was bright red – with anger, not shame or embarrassment, Charlie noted. “You listen to me, you little –“

Charlie moved to stand protectively in front of Ian, all five foot six of him drawn up in controlled fury. “No, you’re going to listen to _me._ Here’s how things will go: you are going to remove these cuffs right now. And I am going to call a U.S. Attorney who knows quite a lot of judges that she can wake up to get a court order signed. Then you are going to let us wait here until that order is delivered to you.”

The room was completely silent. Don stared at his brother, open-mouthed. A memory suddenly flashed through his mind – one of his first visits to Bradford, back when he’d started therapy. They’d been talking about Don’s experience growing up with a genius little brother, and Don had said – what was it? – he’d described Charlie as a ‘curly-headed black hole who could suck the air out of the room.’ At the time he’d been referring to the way that Charlie had been a magnet for attention. He had no idea his little brother could just turn it on, to deliberately and completely captivate everyone’s attention like this.

“Was I unclear?” Charlie asked icily. “Get these cuffs off him, _now.”_

Thompson nodded abruptly to the guard standing behind Ian, and the guard removed the handcuffs. Charlie could see red marks on Ian’s wrists, and that just made him angrier. He turned back to the Marshal.

“I’m going to be filing a complaint against you. At least, that’s where I’m going to start.”

“Hold on,” Thompson held up a hand. “All I’m guilty of is listening to a deputy that I thought I could trust.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” Charlie said softly. “We’ll find out, won’t we?” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, found the contact he wanted, and pressed the call button.

“Hello, Robin?” Charlie turned slightly, checking on Ian again. The sniper’s face was neutral, although he was rubbing some feeling back into his wrists. “Hey, it’s Charlie, I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s urgent. I need you to wake up a judge. Feel free to pick the one you like the least, if that helps.”

Colby nudged Don. “I didn’t know Charlie could be so…”

“Scary?” David supplied, and Colby and Nikki both nodded in agreement.

Don played it off as though he wasn’t also a little disturbed by how easily Charlie had taken total control of the situation. “Hey, you don’t mess with the Eppes.”

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“Do you…do you want me to join you?” Charlie offered tentatively, as Ian pushed open the door to the bathroom. The Craftsman was still a mess from Simmons’ team serving the search warrant that morning – or was it technically yesterday morning? And Charlie had started to pick things up as he and Ian moved through the house.

Ian had said barely two words on the drive back, and Charlie’s preference to drive without music made the silence even more apparent. Charlie had finally tuned the radio to a news channel just to fill the air as they headed home. 

“No, Charlie. Just give me a minute.” Ian closed the bathroom door behind him.

Charlie swallowed, his throat suddenly growing tight. Somehow he’d known what to do, what to say, when they were in Thompson’s office at the penitentiary. And Robin had been amazing – she’d gotten a signed court order there within an hour. But now Charlie felt adrift, unable to get any sense from Ian about what he needed.

So he busied himself tidying up their room first, keeping the door wide open so that he could listen to the shower running. He’d spoken to Don about getting Ian’s rifle back out of FBI custody, and his brother had promised it would be returned tomorrow. 

He heard the water shut off, and a minute later Ian entered the room, a towel wrapped around his waist. He didn’t look at Charlie, just bent down and started rummaging through his duffle bag.

“Are you hungry?” Charlie asked. “I can go make you something.”

Ian shook his head, giving up on whatever he was looking for and sitting on the edge of the bed instead. He rested his elbows on his knees, his head drooping wearily.

Charlie climbed up on the opposite side of the bed, shuffling over on his knees until he was pressed against Ian’s back. He didn’t do anything more, just laid his head against the back of Ian’s right shoulder. He tried to sync his breathing up with his boyfriend’s, not really understanding why, but just thinking it might help make them feel closer. After a few minutes he felt Ian’s hand reaching back to cover his, and he gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I never doubted you,” Charlie said quietly. “Not for a second.”

He suddenly found himself on his back, being pressed into the mattress with Ian on top of him, the sniper catching his lips in an urgent, searing kiss. Ian was tearing at his clothes, only willing to let his lips be parted from Charlie’s just long enough to pull his shirt over his head. Then Ian’s hands were at his waist, fumbling open his jeans before yanking them and his boxers down. Charlie kicked them the rest of the way off as Ian straddled him, mouthing and nipping at his neck.

Charlie tugged at the towel between them, finally able to pull it free when Ian lifted his hips obligingly. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, rolling his hips upward in search of contact. They ground against each other until Charlie slipped one of his legs out from under Ian, planted his foot firmly on the bed, and heaved until they both rolled. Ian grunted in surprise, looking up at Charlie.

Locking eyes with Ian, Charlie cupped his face with both hands and kissed him, nibbling slightly at his lips until Ian opened his mouth. Charlie took one of his hands away, reaching over to the nightstand and fumbling the drawer open. Ian reached for the lube as Charlie removed it, but Charlie hummed a denial against his mouth. He flicked the cap on the bottle and slicked up his own fingers, reaching back to open himself up. 

Ian slid one of his hands down Charlie’s side, getting a firm handful of his ass as Charlie moaned. Charlie was impatient, not willing to go as slowly as Ian typically did, but he stretched himself until he could just take three fingers. He urged Ian further up the bed, until the sniper’s back was up against the headboard.

Gripping Ian’s cock with his slick hand, Charlie felt around the bed for the bottle of lube, spreading more of it up and down Ian’s full length. Ian moaned and bucked his hips up as Charlie stroked him, but he froze when Charlie shifted forward, getting in a better position to sink down on Ian’s cock.

“Babe –“

Charlie shushed him, knowing the reason behind Ian’s small protest. They’d been exclusive with each other for years, they were both clean. But in Ian’s line of work, he came into contact with other people’s bodily fluids often enough that he preferred to use protection. Just in case. 

But that wasn’t what Charlie wanted, not tonight. He held Ian firmly and slowly pressed down, gasping when the tip of Ian’s cock slipped past the slight resistance at his rim. Ian gripped his hips, holding him steady as he carefully bottomed out, sitting flush against Ian.

He started to move, slowly, running his hand from Ian’s tight stomach up to his chest. Ian’s hands were busy as well, one hand sliding around to the small of Charlie’s back and massaging light circles, the other reaching up to get and handful of Charlie’s hair.

It wasn’t enough, as good as it was it wasn’t enough for Charlie to express everything he was feeling. He leaned forward, laying a kiss just under Ian’s jaw, working his way up to his ear.

“You’re a good man,” he whispered, and he felt Ian’s arms tighten around him. “You’re so good. You didn’t deserve to be there, in that place, and I –“ He cut himself off, losing his rhythm as he realized what he’d been about to say. 

He loved Ian. 

He felt humbled, elated, and afraid all at the same time, and the words died in his throat. He couldn’t say them. They were too big.

“I never doubted you,” he said instead, picking up the rhythm again. He felt Ian shudder against him, and Charlie started to move faster, enjoying the way his own cock was rubbing against Ian’s stomach. 

Ian’s hands slipped back down to his hips, gripping him tightly and bringing him down harder until he came with a yell, burying his face in Charlie’s shoulder as he came down. Charlie kissed the side of his head as he reached between them, stroking himself hard until he reached his own orgasm.

The two of them clung to each other, reluctant to separate, Ian rolling his hips occasionally to stir up another little wave of pleasure for both of them. Eventually Charlie shifted and Ian slipped out easily, and Charlie gave him a quick kiss as he pushed himself up and off the bed. He cleaned himself up in the bathroom, wetting down a washcloth for Ian.

Ian was practically asleep when Charlie slipped back into the room, and grumbled a bit when Charlie helped him clean up. He rolled onto his side, and Charlie slid underneath the sheets, spooning up behind him with an arm around his waist. Charlie heard Ian’s breathing even out, glad that after everything that had happened his lover was finally getting some rest.

Charlie didn’t sleep.


End file.
